


(Un)Yielding

by clk_boom



Series: (Un)Yielding [1]
Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz, Be More Chill - Ned Vizinni
Genre: Bullying, Cheating, Christine Canigula is pure, F/M, Hazing, M/M, Multi, Pining, Please revoke my Michael Mell Protection Squad badge, Slow Burn, Suicide Attempt, Underage Drinking, boyf riends - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-25
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2019-02-06 14:14:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 28,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12819282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clk_boom/pseuds/clk_boom
Summary: Michael Mell is going to ruin a twelve-year friendship over a girl. But when getting beat up is your weekly norm, you need a sweet way to release the pressure.





	1. The Destruction of a Smile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael just wants to make an exit. This is ridiculous. At least it won't happen again.

Michael was a confident young man. Admittedly, he wasn’t as confident as Jake Dillinger, or Rich Goranski, but he was comfortable with himself. He liked himself. Mostly. Well, what he really liked was his presentation; his music, his food, his clothes. Michael liked the Idea of Michael.

The Idea of Michael was _objectively_ likable. He was nice to everyone, he was chill with just about whatever, he didn’t spread rumors. By all rights, he figured he was just like 80% of the Cool kids. Not that he _wanted_ to be cool - that seemed like a lot of effort. But he didn’t think he deserved the amount of heckling he got from other kids, like the “RIENDS” incident. He frowned thinking about it.

Was it so bad if they _were_?

They weren’t. Never were. But Michael still didn’t like it. The Squip Happening was long over and while things had seemed promising for a while, the Cool crowd went back to being just that: Cool. Rich even stayed Cool, having been grandfathered in by some weird social clause, which made no sense to Michael, because after all of the “gay” teases, apparently there’d been a loophole in case you were already Cool and bi. Jeremy didn’t get grandfathered in, but at least they didn’t bully him anymore. As much. (It was all “friendly teasing”, they claimed. Yeah, right.) That was good, right?

“Michael!” Jeremy grinned from the other side of the cafeteria. Michael flashed a smile back and started toward him. Through the crowd, he noticed the top of Christine’s head just behind his friend and his heart swelled a little. Christine’s been good for Jeremy, Michael thought.

“Hey, buddy!” He crossed the last of the swarm of hungry teens in a few confident(ish) strides, his head high and spirits brightened. Jeremy let go of Christine’s hand to execute their perfectly practiced handshake. Classes and homework had been busy lately, and as a result the two hadn’t had a lot of time together. “How was class?”

“Ugh, don’t even ask,” Jeremy groaned as the group shuffled to their table.

“That bad, huh?”

“Oh yeah,” Christine laughed. “Poor Jeremy couldn’t catch a break with that teacher.”

“I almost considered bringing back the Humiliation Sheets.”

“Ooh,” Michael winced. “I’d be a bad friend if I let you do that.” Jeremy put his head down and groaned again, this time louder.

“Nice job projecting, Jer!” Christine teased at his melodrama and leaned down to kiss his head. Michael felt a little knot form in his stomach. Christine’s been good for Jeremy. But his smile didn’t falter. Even if it had, no one was looking to see. Michael looked down at his lunch tray and couldn’t decide if he was still hungry or not. He ate anyway.

Eventually the class bell rang, signaling that lunch was over and, for Michael, chemistry class was imminent. He popped his headphones back on, said his goodbyes, and hoped maybe to squeeze two songs into the passing period.

He didn’t really hear either of them; his thoughts came  deafeningly loudly. What was wrong with him today? His vibe had been sufficiently harshed, because of this funk in his mind. Suddenly he was jolted from the left.

“Hey, I’m _talking_ to you, jackass.” Some kid, Ryan, or Bryan, or something. He’d always been a dick and was mostly absent and removed from the whole Squip Happening. At that point, it was almost hard to believe someone could be that shitty _without_ a tiny supercomputer in their brain. Maybe he could  find some more Mountain Dew Red and just secretly…

“Yeah?” Michael  made sure to add extra annoyance into his tone as he pulled his headphones down.

“Aww, why so glum lately? It’s it ‘cause your boyf dumped you for that weird Christine chick?” He laughed, scrunching up his nose and baring his teeth like some disgusting bald marsupial and the guy behind him high-fived him.

“Christine isn’t weird, first off, and secondly, man, really?That joke is so old I’m not even mad.” Michael scoffed and rolled his eyes. He tried to keep walking to class, but Bryan (that was it) and his friend blocked his way.

“So he _was_ your boyfriend! I knew it!”

“Nope, dude, we--”

“What, so did you _liiike_ him?” Bryan’s friend pushed Michael back by the shoulders. It took everything in Micael not to make a swing at him. It wasn’t a fight he would win anyway, since these  guys were hardcore jocks, already scouted for college football.

“Can I go to class now?” He sighed. He tried to act put out instead of afraid. The two looked at each other and smirked.

“Nah,” said Bryan. He pushed Michael harder until he hit the lockers beside them. “Sean? A little help?” Bryan’s friend looked up and down the hall for teachers first, then slammed a sneaker into Michael’s shin. Michael barely even had time to react and fell to the ground, clutching his leg.

“Shit! What the fuck is your-”

“Shut up, Mellboro!” Michael winced up at Sean in pain and confusion. “Like, ‘cause he’s a fag? And that’s what they called cigs when I went-”

“Shut up, Sean.” Bryan gave him a light shove before picking Michael up by his arm, Sean assisting, and slamming him back against the lockers. Michael’s glasses went askew and half of Bryan’s face suddenly went 140p. “Listen, Mell, you’re gonna come on a little walk with us. If you scream, I’ll just make it that much worse for you. And hey, who knows.” Bryan adjusted Michael’s glasses back onto his nose. “Maybe I’ll keep those dorky glasses all in one piece.”

All Michael could do was stare back with wide eyes and nod mutely. Not even the whimper at the back of his throat managed to escape.

“Good man!” Bryan and Sean grinned. Despite all of Michael’s covert efforts and the pitying looks he got from other students he passed in open-doored classrooms, once again man’s  passive nature won out and he was walked to a dusty, unused storage closet on the other side of the school, away from all the quiet classes. Why couldn’t he just be likable?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @Michael, I am so sorry, buddy.  
> Additionally, this is just an intro chapter. The following chapters will vary between being this length and being quite a bit longer. Thank you for reading!


	2. The Destruction of Pride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Do not break do not break do not break do not break do not break do not break do not

Michael was out of school a few days, more out of vanity than necessity. Actually, that was subjective; he was sure he'd get some sort of flack from other students even after his bruises healed if they saw anything. He was also sure he'd strained his vocal cords, either from restraining from screaming or crying in pain alone later.

 

Michael: hey, won't be at school this week. Got pretty sick after lunch :(

Jeremy: damn :/ I'll come over after school

Michael: it's ok, seriously I don't want to infect you. This could finally be the zombie plague

Jeremy: lol count me in anyway. I won't survive it without you, dude

 

Michael laughed. There was a low chance of convincing Jeremy not to come, and a part of him was glad that if he failed, at least someone might see. Might understand. Part of him needed to just… let it out. The other part of him just wanted to keep it to himself. Nobody needed to know, especially if Bryan decided to blame him for the word getting out,  _ especially  _ since he probably wouldn't do it again, right? The more Michael thought about it, the more anxious he got, and he resolved to just text Jeremy, to tell him he was having a hard time sleeping and didn't feel up to much else. Jeremy more than reluctantly agreed, but insisted on having his dad drop off soup as a gesture.

In the following days, Michael took to a lot of heat/cold therapy, as suggested by his mom. Google told him ice packs on the first day, then warm compresses and hot showers. During the process, his parents dogged him for names, but Michael refused.

“I just fell, mom, I told you.” Met with disbelief.

“Really, there's no one to pursue.” Threats of groundation.

“It's my story, I'll stick to it. Ground me if you want.” They relented.

The injuries weren't too bad, just that the bruises took several days to heal -- and hey, his glasses were mercifully spared! -- And he walked the halls on Tuesday with pride none too terribly decimated. Though, he lacked the same bounce in his step that he usually had. Christine was the first to spot him before school started.

“Hey, Michael!” She presented him with a few bags of mint tea, individually packaged. Michael smiled warmly and put them in his pocket.

“Thanks, Christine.” She was way too thoughtful and kind. Jeremy deserved her. She deserved him. Maybe even better.

“Jeremy told me you'd been sick, and peppermint is really good for nausea, so…” She rocked back and forth on her heels and nodded. “Just in case. And I have a cup in my locker if you need it, it's microwaveable and you can keep it til you're feeling better but really, I only got it for, like a dollar on sale, so it isn't a big deal if you forget, and don't worry, it's not like, super girly or anything, it's just a plain old… cup.” She realized she was rambling and looked back up to Michael, her smile still unwavering.

“Thanks, Christine. I'm good, but I really appreciate it.”

“Well, if you need it, catch me in the hall.” Christine gave an awkward thumbs-up before sidling away. Michael watched her go and his shoulders fell. Christine.

“Yep.” He sighed, aware she couldn't hear him anymore. He had… a  _ lot  _ to think about. Or maybe he didn't and maybe it was simple: Michael Mell was a Side Character in this installment of Middle Borough: The Reckoning. As such, he wasn't entitled to Main Character benefits. Apparently Side Characters couldn't unlock the Happy Ending DLC until episode 12. Maybe 13. Maybe by college, or something. Either way, he needed to learn to move on.

English, History, P.E. -- what a joke -- study hall. The classes glided by like a montage in front of Michael's eyes. He took no notes, and he got hit by a rogue birdie in phys. ed., square in the temple. Nothing seemed to shake him till lunch.

Jeremy and Christine sat with Michael like normal, and it seemed that only then could he snap out of the funk, or at least he made a pretty convincing attempt. He engaged in idle conversation, picked at his lunch, but avoided eye contact with either of them. He was still thinking about last week and was convinced that one of them would see it in his eyes like a telepath.

“Yeah, we were both really worried when you didn't come back yesterday,” Christine admitted. They had recently begun speaking in terms of “we”. Jeremy nodded.

“And when your mom said you weren't up for visitors I figured you were on your deathbed. I… do get all your consoles, right?”

“Yeeeaah,” Michael hummed, “but not Dead Space. Or Pac-Man. I get buried with those.” Jeremy shrugged.

“That's fair.” Just then, Michael noticed Sean looking at him. He had a smile on his face, nodded toward the door, and mouthed “now”.

“Hey guys, uh actually? I'm gonna go ahead and use the bathroom before class. Seeya!” He left smiling despite their protests that he hadn't even finished his sushi yet. Michael rushed to follow Sean, who was a good fifteen paces ahead. After a minute, he realized where they were headed. He stopped dead in his tracks, feet frozen in fear, flashbacks from last week suddenly flying through his mind. Sean must have heard him stop, because he turned back and motioned for him to follow. Michael shook his head.

What had he done wrong? He hadn't told anyone, and nobody saw anything. He wracked his brain as Sean turned the rest of the way and headed back toward him.

“What's wrong, buddy?” Bryan rounded a corner down the hall. “We just wanna talk to you a little bit, that's all.” He pulled a flask out of his backpack and waved it at Michael, careful to do it low so nobody who happened by would see. Michael looked around, praying for a familiar face. Of course, no such luck, and it was still twenty minutes until the end of lunch. Hesitantly, he went. 

Upon entering the old closet, Bryan jammed the flask into Michael's hands. Michael took a few too many sips, but he was less worried about getting expelled for smelling like whiskey than he was about getting found out. Bryan leaned against the wall casually, as though they really were just friends who snuck away to catch up. When he held his hand out for the flask, Michael took one last sip and passed it.

“Mellboro Red,” he chuckled. “You gotta admit that's funny.”

“What do you want from me?” Michael's voice was a little raspy from the heat of the liquor, and strained with the force of withheld tears. His eyes watered just a touch, though that could have just been the anxiety building up. Bryan laughed then shook his head. Behind Michael stood Sean, who locked the door. Michael blanched and felt his stomach pitch at the awful sound; Bryan laughed like that last week.

_ “Look at the fag cower!” _

“--all week.”

“Wait, what?”

“Pay attention, will ya?” Bryan scowled. “You were out all week. You didn't snitch to mommy and daddy, didja now? Or your little friends?” Bryan took a swig of the Fireball then tossed it to Sean. In the same motion, despite Michael's desperate head-shaking, Bryan grabbed him by the edges of his red jacket.

“Oh, you  _ didn't _ ?” He asked again.

“Dude, I-I swear! Nobody heard, just get off of me!”

“ _ Nobody _ , Mell?” Bryan squinted and despite himself, Michael's breath caught and he let out a pitiful sound not unlike a whimper.

“Nobody. Nobody.”

“Huh.” Bryan leaned back out of Michael's face, but didn't let go. “Sean? Hold ‘im.”

“What, why?!” Michael cried out as Sean stepped forward and held Michael's arms behind him. He was  _ really _ strong. “What the fuck,  _ please _ !”

* * *

They'd left his face alone. Supposedly, Michael thought, it was so he didn't miss more school and raise suspicion. Still, Michael didn't tell anything. Bryan didn't even need to threaten him again; he wasn't dumb, he knew the drill. Snitch, and he was good as dead. He knew.

He grinned and bore it for the rest of the day, ignoring the subtle yet constant ache in his stomach and ribs. The next morning, more pains arose across his chest and stomach and throughout his stiff shoulders. He had to take some of his textbooks out of his bag due to the weight. He didn't want to see how bad the bruises were, so he had turned from the mirror while he changed. Michael's cheek was a little swollen from a half-assed punch Sean had thrown at Bryan’s coercion, but maybe if he didn't say anything, no one would notice.

Unfortunately, Jeremy  _ and  _ Christine noticed. Michael deflected, saying that he dropped his phone on his face, or maybe it was from where he used a new face wash or something. They weren't convinced, but didn't pursue the issue any further. Thank fuck.

The bullies kept coming for him, typically once a week, more if he was unlucky. He was unlucky often enough. Maybe Bryan had steam to blow off, or just really did hate Michael that much. Michael could still hear the slurs and insults every time the room was quiet, or when he spaced out. That was happening more the longer it went on. He became irritable and snapped at his friends, especially Jeremy. Christine looked the most upset when he did that, and he always felt so guilty as soon as he saw the hurt in her eyes. The best he could do was give a weak apology and excuse himself.

The third month in, Bryan had gotten brazen enough to fuck with Michael's face again. Michael stayed home. Michael stayed quiet. Jeremy climbed in through his window.


	3. The Rise of Confidentiality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael thought his desires wholly intangible, and yet.

“Jesus, Michael…” Jeremy had just come in through Michael’s unlocked bedroom window and was met with… well, it wasn’t what he expected. Michael was playing video games in bed, bruises over his face in a rainbow of colors and some scrapes on his cheeks. The most glaring was the giant yellow bruise that had managed to swell his left eye almost entirely shut. Jeremy sat there, one leg still out the window.

“Jeremy?!” Michael jumped and went to cover his face, but realized it was futile -- Jeremy had seen. “What are you doing here?”

“What the hell happened to you?” He swung his leg in and crossed the room. Michael scrambled out of bed.

“Nothing, man, just get out of here.” Michael said as he tried to herd Jeremy back out of the room, but Jeremy was stubborn and having none of it. He spun out of Michael’s pushing hands.

“No! What’s going on with you? You’ve been a total dick to me lately, and you’ve been avoiding Christine so hard that she thought she did something to upset you. Man, for a minute there, I even thought you’d been stupid enough to go get a squip! But now this?”

Michael had gone back and was in the process of putting on pants while Jeremy had his moment. His hands shook so badly that he missed the button three times. Jeremy shut the window and went to sit on Michael’s bed.

“I’m - listen, I can’t talk about it, but I’m fine.”

“Are you? You don’t _look_ fine. What’s got you so freaked you can’t even talk to your best friend about it?”

“Just leave it alone!” Michael was glad his parents were at work, especially with how loudly he yelled. “Just…” He took a deep breath and tried to calm down. His voice wavered. “Don’t fuck with it. I gotta pee, give me a minute.” And then he was gone.

Jeremy sat there alone on Michael’s bed, head spinning with possibilities as to what could possibly have happened. Michael hadn’t told him he’d gotten into any fights or anything remotely like that. Or anything at all. Come to think of it, they really hadn’t talked much at all in a few weeks. After a bit, he realized Michael had been gone a long time. It made Jeremy anxious, so he got up and knocked on the bathroom door.

Michael was crying. He didn’t answer.

“Michael?” Jeremy asked softly. “Will you talk to me?” He cleared his throat. “Please?” Sniffling silence. “Come on, it’s supposed to be a ‘two-player game’ and all that. Isn’t that what we said?”

“Fuck, man…” There was the sound of water running and after a few more moments, the door popped open and out slunk Michael, rubbing at his face and hiccupping. His ribs hurt.

“It’s okay, Michael. Uh, just, you know. Take it easy.” They went back to Michael’s room, Jeremy confused as ever. Instead of sitting, Michael paced across the room slowly. He had a slight limp. “Alright. Tell me what happened.”

“Jeremy, it’s not that simple.” Michael was trying to deflect.

“Then, I don’t know, simplify it. Did you get in a fight?”

“No. I mean, kinda. Not really.” Michael wanted him to figure it out, but at the same time, then he wouldn’t be able to stop Bryan from hassling Jeremy. Or Christine. But Jeremy was smart.

“Wait, did someone seriously do this to you?” His hand moved, he thought about getting up and reaching out for one of the ugly bruises on Michael’s face, but that was a bad plan. “F-for how long?”

“No, Jeremy,” Michael said. “I did it to myself. I just love to go off and beat the shit out of myself to calm down after a long, hard day, you know?” The scowl on his face seemed absolute and immovable.

“How. Long, Michael?”

“Months,” he spat.

“Who?”

“I’m not gonna snitch.”

“Do you really think that being a ‘snitch’ and not-being a snitch matters at this point?” Jeremy’s voice strained and broke a few times. “Your _eye_ is totally swollen! What, are you just gonna lay down and take it?”

“Yeah, Jeremy! That’s exactly what I’m going to do. Because if I don’t, then he’s gonna make my life a living hell. And probably yours, and Christine’s, too.” Jeremy didn’t have anything to say in response to that at first. After several long seconds of heavy silence, he finally spoke.

“Is this why you’ve been such a dick to us? Because… this is happening?” Jeremy asked. It wasn’t the right thing to say, but Jeremy and Michael both knew that wasn’t Jeremy’s strong suit. Michael forgave him, silently.

“Yeah… I’ve kind of been touchy with everyone, I guess.” Michael waited for the next question in the interrogation, but it didn’t come. Jeremy was just waiting, and listening. Michael realized that, actually, yeah. He wanted to talk. It was out now. Why not? He took a deep breath.

He was going to take a plunge. Who knew, maybe Jeremy would hate him for it by the end, and stop being his friend again. Then, at least, he and Christine might be safe from Bryan and Sean.

“And honestly?” Michael started, slowly. “I’m feeling more and more fucking bitter, and I guess it’s because of him. I don’t understand why he’s doing this, or why it’s happening at all, but maybe it’s just because I’m weak or something.” Jeremy started to protest, but Michael stopped him. He was on a roll. “Can I just talk? That’s… kind of what you asked for.” Jeremy nodded. “So basically, he can apparently wail on me all he wants, but I’m too spineless to do anything. Not just about him, but… _anything_ . I’m just - everything is kind of spiraling out of control! And I’m just _pissed_ , and _tired_ , and god, I just feel so weak over it, Jer.”

He thought he was okay to say this. It ran away from him, and now he was starting to break down into sobs again. Jeremy tried to hug him but got pushed away.

“I can’t even tell you or Christine,” Michael said weakly, his voice creaking, “how fucking jealous I am!”

“Wait, you’re jealous of _me_?” Jeremy asked.

“Jesus.” Michael hiccupped a few times. “No, asshole. I’m jealous of Christine.” That gave Jeremy pause. Why was Michael jealous of _her_? He’d hardly been jealous of anyone in his entire life; Jeremy knew the comfort in his swagger, had had stoned conversations at 2 am about how chill he was. So what was this?

“Of… Christine?” His face twisted in confusion.

“That’s what I said.”

“Wh-”

“ _Because_ , Jeremy!” Michael covered his face and stood still for a moment, paused his pacing. Everything in his head was so loud. “Because for _years_ I’ve, I’ve-”

This was it. He dropped his hands.

“I-”

Say it.

“I… have wanted to be…”

_Say it, you weak piece of lunchmeat._

“ _Everything_ that she is to you.”

Instead of feeling relieved, his chest tightened. He could barely breathe as he stood there, stock still and staring back at Jeremy, whose wide eyes said way too much, but not enough. His muscles were tense, just sucking up all the oxygen available to his body. Waiting for Jeremy to say something was like staring down Bryan’s fist in slow motion.

“Ngh- uh.” Jeremy wasn’t breathing, either. He was just… stuck. “Guh- what?” Michael didn’t offer clarification at Jeremy’s stammering, so finally he asked, “What do you mean?”

“I mean that… I don’t know what I mean.” Michael flopped down onto his desk chair, a bad decision he realized as he winced and hissed in pain. He stood back up and it alleviated a little. The doctor had said nothing was broken, so at least he had that solace.

“You’re jealous because she’s my girlfriend?”

“Yes? No? Probably? I don’t know, Jeremy.”

“But we’re best friends…” Jeremy’s knee bounced anxiously.

“Yeah. I know. That’s why I… I didn’t want to say anything.” Michael’s ears were ringing and rushing with the sound of blood. His heart beat slow and hard. “But with all this other shit going on… I feel like I’m gonna explode, like, all the time.”

Jeremy’s knee just kept bouncing. He looked deep in thought. Michael wished he’d say something, but now he was just happy to have Schrodinger’s Friendship. The moment he asked would be the moment he opened the box, and he was fully expecting the cat to be dead.

“I know the feeling,” Jeremy said. He stood and stretched, then came a little closer. “I, uh. Thought you weren’t interested.” There was a beat. A heavy one, like a boot on old wooden flooring.

“What?”

“I mean, I like Christine and all. I really like her… A lot. Like, it’s not a front or anything.” Jeremy’s face started to turn red. Michael’s stomach dropped. He knew the outcome. He shouldn’t have said anything, anyway. “But I also like you.” His stomach dropped further. If ever there was a sound of missed opportunity, there it was. He felt like a total loser.

“Look,” Michael stammered, “I- I didn’t mean to put you in a position, okay? I know you guys are happy, and she _really_ likes you, man. I’m alright just being friends. You don’t have to break up with her.” Jeremy just nodded in response and took a few more steps over to meet Michael. He looked like he was still thinking.

“No, uh. It’s- it’s okay.” He was red as a beet. “I’m not, I’m not… gonna.” His toes practically met Michael’s. “Break up with her, I mean.” Michael froze again, afraid of what he’d do. Was he mad? Was he going to hit Michael, too? Fine. He braced himself.

But then Jeremy did something quite the opposite.

He kissed him.

Michael flinched as Jeremy suddenly leaned in, and then just stood there. This wasn’t at all how he expected this to go, but he wasn’t totally complaining. Jeremy separated them by millimeters, eyes still closed.

“Are you mad?” His voice was a whispering rasp.

“You can’t do that…”

“Why?”

“Christine.”

“She doesn’t have to know.”

Michael’s hands shook. This was wrong. Christine was his _friend_. And Jeremy liked her, maybe even loved her to an extent. He couldn’t just let him do this to her. And yet, his hands moved up to Jeremy’s waist. He pulled him closer, went to close the chasm between them.

“I’m not mad.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I've got a few chapters backlogged just for timing's sake but I'm going to start taking a bit longer to post in order to give myself time to edit and get a little further ahead with the chapter count. At first, I'll probably stagger them by a few days, then eventually get onto a weekly posting schedule. Three chapters posted/five chapters written in 3 days has been an adventure!  
> See you soon! Please leave comments and reviews! <3


	4. The Rise of Falsehoods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Stay." That was all Michael needed.

It was April. Just one more month until summer. Jeremy and Michael hadn’t really talked about anything that happened in March, except for the problem with Bryan and Sean. But certainly not the… other thing. They really didn’t know how to proceed, and teachers were doubling down on homework anyway, so Jeremy hardly had time to breathe if he wanted to pass.

The problem with summer was that it would give everyone more free time. That was the beauty of it, but the curse was that with that free time, Christine would be expecting Jeremy to spend a lot of time with her. Michael was still jealous, but he at least understood. Kind of. He couldn’t ask Jeremy to choose, especially not after everything he went through with that damned squip just to win her heart. He genuinely liked her, but part of Michael couldn’t help but wonder if Jeremy genuinely liked _him_. He shook the idea off.

Back to Bryan and Sean. Jeremy and Michael both agreed that for them to realize that Jeremy knew about the situation would be bad for all three of them. And Michael kept enduring their antagonizing until they found a solution. Step one was to investigate who their friends were, who all would side with them if something happened. If the two of them suddenly got expelled or whatever, then who would come after them? Step two was to, if possible, actually get them expelled. That would mean they’d probably miss tests, fail the grade, and have to repeat. That would also certainly put their careers on hold, or halt them altogether. It was cruel, but it was karmic.

Plan B was to just endure it over the summer and use that time to come up with another plan. Michael could endure another month.

It was the first weekend in April and Jeremy was in Michael’s basement playing video games as usual. They lost the round, and Jeremy put his controller down.

“Hey, come on, I’m sure we can get it this time! I think I figured it out!” Michael encouraged as he looked at Jeremy’s controller, as though it were a personal offense comparable to a gauntlet thrown.

“Michael, are we gonna talk about what happened a few weeks ago?” That was an unexpected cold bucket of water.

“Uh… Not if you don’t want to. But I’m getting the sense that you kinda do.” He sat down his controller as well.

“I mean, kind of… You really weren’t mad that I did that?”

“Did what?”

“Kissed you?” Jeremy’s face got hot and started to turn pink again, just like it did then. Michael shook his head. “You probably think I’m a terrible person.” Michael shook his head again. It was a terrible thing to do, but he had no room to judge Jeremy; after all, he was standing right there with him. He encouraged him.

“No, Jer. I really don’t.”

“Is it bad that I like you both?” Jeremy turned sideways on his bean bag to face Michael, who shrugged.

“How should I know? We’re teenagers, Jeremy. I don’t know how the world works. I don’t know if that’s normal, or what. _I’ve_ never liked two people at once, but like, remember _Dismissed_? That… works out sometimes, right?”

“I mean, that show’s been on since, like, 2001. It’s a digital relic. I think people just go on it to go on it, you know? I don’t think that’s really a great example. Plus, I think only two of them end up dating.”

“Yeah…” Michael turned to face Jeremy, slumping and mirroring his body language naturally. That happened after twelve years of friendship. “Do you think Christine would hate us?”

“Probably.”

Michael had to agree with Jeremy on that.

“She doesn’t deserve that,” Michael sighed. Jeremy nodded in agreement. The mood was somber, and didn’t fit with the cheery Atari start music bleeping in the background.

“I’m sorry I never said anything,” Jeremy blurted. The words seemed to jump from his mouth against his will. “I should’ve. I just thought-”

“That I’d hate you? I thought the same thing. I was hoping you’d just… psychically catch on one day.”

“Yeah. Same.”

“And then you told me you liked Christine… I wanted to be supportive, you know?”

“I was hoping it’d make you jealous or something, I guess. Or that you’d try to talk me out of it.”

“Well, I didn’t.”

“Yeah. So I figured why not? And… she’s great, Michael.”

“I know.” Michael got up and reached into an “unused” drawer in a forgotten desk that had been stored down there years ago, perfect for hiding things. He rolled a joint in the silence that followed and lit it up. He came back to the bean bags and sat down, taking a hit then passing it to Jeremy wordlessly and setting an ashtray between them.

They sat and smoked for a long time, not speaking, hardly even looking at each other. There was a lot to process. There was a lot that had gone unsaid a long time, and now that things were out in the open, they’d all vanished like they didn’t matter. Michael wished he could just grab one of the myriad of thoughts flying through his head and hand it to Jeremy. Jeremy wished the same.

“Can I kiss you again?” Michael asked after a while. It felt a weird thing to ask someone, especially someone who initiated it the previous time, yet he would have felt worse if he had just _done_ it. Jeremy cast a furtive glance toward him, then gave a small nod. “You don’t seem too sure. I- don’t worry about it.”

“No, I want you to. I want to kiss you.” Jeremy put the joint - now reduced to a nub - down on the ashtray and leaned over Michael’s beanbag but stopped just short. Michael hesitated a moment, then came up to meet him.

Their lips met softly, without crashing or battling for power. It was mutual. They tasted of smoke and the Doritos they’d shared an hour ago, but Michael still had a hint of coffee on his breath from this morning. Jeremy thought he was electrifying. Awkwardly, he just barely broke the kiss and climbed over into his space so he rested over him. Michael held him tight and never wanted to let him go. Jeremy kissed him again, more desperately. He was an underfed animal realizing how much it needed food to survive. Michael matched him.

Their lips stayed pressed together, moved against each other, and their tongues writhed eagerly. Sure, they’d kissed girls before, even girls who were their friends. But never girls they’d known this well and wanted this badly.

Not even Christine.

Jeremy pulled away and exhaled that thought from his mind. Instead, he pushed a hand up into Michael’s hair and pressed kisses into his jaw and neck. Michael made low, little noises of encouragement. His breath had picked up and his heart was beating so hard that Jeremy was a little worried. Michael just held him tighter.

They kissed for a long time. Neither tried to do anything else, and they were high enough that the sensation was good enough in the moment. Michael didn’t have the energy for anything more, nor the bravery. Jeremy, straddling Michael’s hips, would have agreed had they spoken about it out loud. But without words, they both still understood. That was another good perk of a long-standing friendship.

It was about a half hour later before they pulled away from each other the last time. The sound of the TV had faded away at some point, but as they came back to the world, so did the noise, and the smells, and the lights.

“I don’t want you to move…” Michael admitted. “Stay.”

“My knees hurt, Michael,” Jeremy laughed, and Michael laughed, and so he finally let him up.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“Don’t apologize…” Jeremy said. “You’re a good kisser.” Michael looked over at that, putting his glasses back on - Jeremy had taken them off at some point - and laughed again, softer. Jeremy was trying to put his hair back in some sort of order, his face red and lips swollen.

“You look like a clown,” Michael said.

“Yeah, so do you, so I think we’re even.”

“‘Even,’ my ass. We’ll be even when we finally beat this level and I don’t have to carry you through it.” Michael motioned to the TV.

“That’s a challenge I can accept!”

Michael and Jeremy picked their controllers up and started frantically button smashing again, desperate to get through the level. After all, they had been working on it for three weeks.

Michael wasn’t entirely sure he minded this, and for that he felt awful.

It was hard to look Christine in the eye on Monday, and he wondered how it came so easy for Jeremy. He was brazen enough to kiss her. The lips that had been interlocked with his all weekend, playing the virgin now with this sweet, unsuspecting girl Jeremy cared for so much. How could he lie like that?

Oh. That’s right. The squip.

Michael smiled tightly when she greeted him, but did his best to be friendly. She _was_ his friend. She was his friend, and he was going to treat her like one. He excused himself to class early and avoided both of them in the hallway. During lunch, he spent way too long in the bathroom, trying not to be upset. The last thing he needed was to cry at school.

It was fine. Everything was fine. Except for the fact that Bryan accused him of hiding, which earned him an extra punishment.

Great.

He left school that day with invisible injuries again, sore shoulders that were getting worse the more Sean held him back, and a stiff knee. He’d been hit in the face just once, but he wrote that off as a girl who didn’t take a rejection well. Not that many people asked. Whatever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Thank you so much for reading! As always, feel free to tell me fun ideas/speculations/stuff you'd like to see in future chapters, since I do write approximately 2-3 chapters ahead of what I post, and no guarantees, but you might just help out a lot!! As of writing this, I already have approximately through chapter nine or ten planned, but I can always make edits before I post.
> 
> Speaking of notes and updates, I think I'm going to start doing some nice little temp updates in the notes just in case you aren't subscribed and would like to know when the next chapter is coming out or what I'm up to. Thanks again, and ciao~!


	5. Real Summering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little things can affect big gears turning in a clockwork mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I finally ended that crazy naming convention I highkey hated. This chapter is sponsored by the soothing tones of "Sweet Dreams" by BØRNS  
> ( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cyN6GMY78D4 )

“Get back here, you little creep!” Bryan was chasing Michael, because Operation Expel B & S had failed miserably and they had to fall back on plan B. Michael was running as fast as his legs could carry him and then some, thanks to the adrenaline, but it wasn’t quite fast enough. Bryan was, after all, a jock, and Michael was a basement roach who was about to get squashed.

Sean was laughing in the distance as Bryan caught up and yanked him back by his hood. Michael’s feet slipped out from underneath him like a fucking cartoon character and his head cracked on the parking lot asphalt. Bryan leaned over him and plucked his keys out of his hand.

“Where ya goin’, _pal_? Don’t you wanna hang out a little? After all, it is summer, and I’m gonna miss you so much.” He had a Cheshire grin. Michael scowled.

“Just, you know. Going home. I like to think of us more as school buddies, you know? You gotta keep a healthy separation.” Bryan grabbed his jaw by the cheeks.

“What a smartass. Sad to see you failed that part of the curriculum. Looks like you’ll need some summer schooling.” Jesus, what was he, a comic book villain? How much had he practiced that line?

“Nice one, Bry!” Sean, ever the affirming bystander.

Fuck it. It was the last day of school, the weather was beautiful, and Michael was tired of this. Without warning, he pulled his fist up and delivered possibly one of the weakest punches ever, but it caught Bryan’s nose just right and he heard an uncomfortable _crack_. Bryan flew back, holding his face. It prompted Sean to rush forward and try to catch Michael, but the extra boost of fear sped him up like a powerup. He got up, grabbed his keys, and ran faster than before the last few yards to his car, outpacing Sean just enough.

He locked the doors just in time for Sean to yank on the handle frantically, angrily, and to see Bryan shuffling to his feet looking like Eleven from Stranger Things. That was certainly a lot of blood. It was self defense, anyway, right?

“We got in a fight and he swung first,” he mumbled to himself as he shakily tried to jam the key in the ignition. Start. Start. Start. Yes! The battery was old and was probably dying, so it took a few times, but she didn’t quit on him today, thank _everything_. They weren’t (totally) stupid and backed away as Michael pealed out of the parking lot, the sound definitely loud enough to concern him and check on his tires as soon as he got home. Thankfully, the weirdos hadn’t followed him, and he lived just far enough from the school that it would be really out of the way to go looking. He was at least safe for now. Maybe the whole summer! His phone buzzed.

Jeremy: hey, last day! We made it!

Michael leaned against the car and sighed.

Michael: Yeah, I guess. Where were you today? I waited.

Jeremy: shit.

Jeremy: I totally forgot I’m sorry

Jeremy: we went to pinkberry

Michael: “We”??? You mean you and Christine

Jeremy: yes

Jeremy: I mean Christine

Jeremy: I said I was sorry

Michael: Yeah just let me know next time. Those assholes showed up.

Jeremy: wait are you blaming me for that??

Michael: No, I’m not blaming you for that.

Jeremy: ok… then I guess we’ll talk later

Michael: Yeah

He wanted to throw the phone. Jeremy was… just as Jeremy as ever. Kind of a dick. Michael grabbed his backpack and went inside, maybe to play video games, maybe to nap; his head hurt pretty bad from that fall, but he didn’t think it was anything serious. He needed to clear his head, both of the pain and of that conversation, and he was perfectly aware that he was being a stereotypical, moody teen, but that’s what he needed right now.

Time to take it out on zombies.

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. Michael jolted awake. It was suddenly darker outside. How long had he been passed out? He looked at the clock. Only 8:30 pm.

Jeremy: I was an add earlier

Jeremy: ass*

Jeremy: I’m sorry

Ignore. It wasn’t that Michael didn’t want to forgive Jeremy - in all honesty, he already had - but it was more that he just didn’t have the energy to talk about it. The whole situation was convoluted, and he just wanted to stop worrying about it. He didn’t want to talk about Christine. Or, at least, not Christine-And-Jeremy. Buzz.

Jeremy: can I come over?

Michael: It’s kind of late, isn’t it? You okay?

Jeremy: no I’m fine

Jeremy: I feel bad for standing you up, that’s not cool. I’ve been thinking about it all day :/

Michael: You’re right, it wasn’t cool

Michael: But you said you forgot, right? So it’s fine. Come on over if you want, we’ll get stoned and play games or something. I’m sure my mom won’t care

Jeremy: sweet! My dad has some sort of thing tonight with his coworkers, so he said he could take me over

Michael’s mom was fine with it, especially once he told her Jeremy would have been all alone in the house otherwise. Jeremy was like a son to her, anyway, so he probably could have strolled in without warning and she’d offer him cinnamon rolls and a hot bath. The Heeres were like family. Except they weren’t.

Michael’s mom sent him straight up to Michael’s room, though not without depositing snacks into his arms for him to bring, and once he managed to get the door open, he dumped them on Michael’s desk.

“Hey.” Jeremy gave a stiff-armed wave from the elbow, like Christine did sometimes.

“Hey,” Michael looked up from his Nintendo DS, for just a moment. “How’re things?”

“Good…” Jeremy awkwardly sat at the desk, his overnight bag still on his shoulder. After a few more awkward moments of silence, Jeremy readjusted in the chair. “Are you seriously not mad at me?”

“One second.” Michael finished the section he was on and closed the system. He sat up cross-legged on the bed facing Jeremy. “I’m not mad. I was finishing up. Sorry I was weird about the Pinkberry thing.”

“You weren’t weird. You almost got the shit beat out of you again because I forgot. I feel like crap about it.” Jeremy said, looking down at his knees and shrugging. “Christine wanted to go as like, an end of school date or something, and I just blanked.”

“Right.” Michael chewed his lower lip. He wanted to find a reason to be upset, he guessed, but he was P3 to Christine. The beta. He, logically, _should_ take the back seat; he’d missed his real chance long ago.

Jeremy got up and put his bag on the floor, coming to sit next to Michael. Tentatively, he put a hand on Michael’s back for comfort.

“What’s up, Michael? You look like you’re thinking too much.”

“It’s,” Michael groaned. “It’s seriously nothing. I just… I hate the situation.”

“Yeah. Me too…” Jeremy dropped his hand and sighed. “Apocalypse of the Damned and chill?” He was back full with a grin. Michael could only supply a small smile in return.

“Yeah, sure. Get your shit, we’re setting up in the basement.” Michael left the snacks and blankets up to Jeremy while he collected the pillows and additional games. They were doing this old school, just like when they were kids. Just then, Jeremy’s phone rang.

“Hello?” His voice dropped in volume significantly after listening to the person on the other end of the line. “Oh, hey. Um- yeah, actually, can it wait? My dad’s at a work thing and I’m at Michael’s… No, no, you’re not bothering me, I just-” He seemed to get cut off. “Yeah, I feel like I owe it to him, you know? Yeah, okay. I love you too, Chris.” -tine. Michael paused. He hadn’t even realized he’d been listening, so he pretended he hadn’t been.

Jeremy owed him? The phrase echoed in his head.

“Ready?” Michael asked, trying to keep a cheery disposition.

“Hm? Oh, yeah! Sorry, it was Christine.”

“Christine? Did she need something?” Michael nudged the door open with his foot, as his arms were full of nesting supplies. Jeremy wasn’t much help with the door, dropping fruit snack packets and Doritos bags every few inches.

“Not really. She was telling me I left my wallet in her mom’s car,” Jeremy shrugged and leaned down to collect his batches of dropped goodies. “I can always get it, like. Another time. I’m here now, right?”

“Right.”

* * *

They built a blanket fort, mostly at Michael’s insistence, whereas Jeremy had been just fine to pile up makeshift sleeping pallets on the floor. However, Jeremy humored him and even helped. From inside the fort, they played games for hours, switching out when one became too difficult, or boring, or glitched out too many times in a row.

Michael pretended that those words weren’t still ringing in his ears, largely because he figured he was being ridiculous. Another part of him knew that he was insecure, and wondered if it wasn’t without reason. After all, Jeremy was actively _cheating_ on Christine, who he said he loved, with Michael. He said it to her right in front of him.

His chest was tightening.

“I gotta piss, I’ll be right back. You can play on 1P,” Michael said, getting up. Once he left the room, he hurried for the bathroom. He wasn’t sure if he was going to be sick, or if he’d worked himself into a real anxiety attack, or if it was the food he ate coming back to haunt his esophagus, but it was a pressure he didn’t like and couldn’t stand at the moment. He needed space, time, the whole continuum, _something_.

He was flashing back to Rich’s party last year, that horrendous panic attack that overtook him with echoing, looping sounds of knocking and banging and Jeremy’s words back then. Of course, that was the squip then, but this was him now, and he actively refused to acknowledge that one way or another, Jeremy was responsible for both of these. It wasn’t his fault; he didn’t mean to, after all, right?

Right?

Michael stifled a choking cough. He was still trying to get his breathing under control and keep it from taking control of him, like it had then. He would give anything not to have another attack like that, because to be honest, the memory of it was more terrifying than recalling the situation that caused it.

He was okay, he finally convinced himself, and came back out. The clock on the DVD player read fifteen minutes later than it had been when he left.

“What’d you do, take the world’s largest dump?” Jeremy teased. Michael struggled to fake a chuckle, and Jeremy noticed. He paused the game and looked up. “Michael, you’re really pale. Are you okay?”

“Do you love me?” He said. Except he didn’t say that. What he said was, “Yeah, sorry, I just had to take a second. I wasn’t feeling so great.”

Jeremy’s eyebrows knitted together and he waved Michael over, setting down the controller. When Michael came to sit next to him, Jeremy awkwardly - yet sincerely - put an arm around Michael. It was reminiscent of when he and Christine first got together and he had no idea what to do with his gangly arms because he totally over-thought the whole affair. Michael groaned internally at the unintentional pun his mind made.

“I’m sorry. I wish I had something better to say, or something… But that’s about all I’ve got,” Jeremy said, face buried in Michael’s shoulder. Michael leaned back on him so hard that they ended up just lying in the bean bag, cuddling miserably. This would get solved. Or something.

“Solved”. There wasn’t a “solution” to it, if Michael wanted resolution he was going to have to make it himself. Yeah, that’s what he’d do. He wasn’t proud of it, but he was going to. Gavel banged. Judgement passed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was initially meant to begin with a dream sequence, but I liked it enough to keep it. Please know that I was unaware I made the bullies' initials B.S.
> 
> Just a note, I think the latest I'll start posting chapters by is Tuesdays, just for future reference!
> 
> **I'm not actually sponsored by BORNS, just in case that was unclear. I'll start giving music recs with my chapters, because lately I've been listening to a lot of music while I write and it usually fits the feel of each chapter! So let's have fun with that. Rec me music in the comments, if you like!


	6. Tell & Show & Tell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael realized there were certain things you just couldn't ask. But he did it anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your tears fuel me, just a reminder. This week's song is:  
> "Fools" by Troye Sivan (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vfD96yRT8cs).

Michael breathed shakily and stared down into his tub. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been there, blankly ruminating.

He snapped back into the present as the phone in his hand started going off. Was he about to call someone?

“Hello?” he answered.

“Hey!” It was Christine. She never called him, or at least, instances of the occurrence were rare. “Um, can I ask you something and get an honest answer? With no weirdness?” Her usually cheery tone was cut with something a little insecure. It made Michael nervous.

“Yeah, any time, Christine.” He was proud of himself for keeping his voice level.

“So, say that… there’s this person you care about a whole lot, right?”

“Mm-hm?”

“And, um. Well, you're starting to worry about- about, like, pretty much everything.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean namely, mostly… inter… personal matters?” Her voice squeaked toward the end of the sentence. “Like, maybe you're worried he doesn't like you like you thought he did?” Fuck. “Or even, maybe, like he thought he did.

“You keep wondering,” she continued, softly, “if it's something you did -- or didn't do -- or if he simply isn't interested, you know? And, and it's not like you're _not_ trying, there has been some definite trying, but-” She sighed heavily into the phone. “So what would you do, Michael?” Christine was talking about their dysfunctional sex life. To _Michael_. Wasn't a part of that just rich as hell?

“I guess… I'm sorry, I'm not great with stuff like that. But I think you should just be honest.” He almost choked saying it; it was the most hypocritical statement he'd ever uttered. There was a long pause and Christine's phone was staticky. It made Michael nervous.

“Thanks, Michael. I've gotta go to this thing with my dad now, but… if you see or hear from Jeremy before I do, will you have him give me a call?” Before Michael could answer, Christine took a quick breath and started again. “Not just because of that! Like, please don't say anything to him about what we just talked about but also, he had just mentioned going over to your place today, then I sent him a bunch of memes and stuff that he read but didn't respond to, so… I'm just, you know, hoping he's not still mad at me for this eensy little disagreement we had, though I know he's not like that, you know? And I've just missed talking to him today. Kind of like I've missed talking to you! Though obviously not in like a boyfriend-girlfriend kind of way, and-” It sounded like a man called her name in the background. “Coming! Anyway, thank you again, Michael. I think you're right,” she finished sincerely. “Have a good one, okay?”

“Yeah,” he mumbled. “You too. Bye.”

Upon hanging up, he wanted to throw his phone. “Just be honest”? Yes, because that was such solid advice coming from him, of all people. He felt like an idiot. He could have banged his head on the wall for weeks. The hole was just… getting dug deeper.

He went back to staring at the tub; it was all that was in front of him. The metaphorical hole would just keep on deepening, right? If he didn't lie, Christine would find out and kill them both -- socially and/or physically -- and if he broke things off with Jeremy, Jeremy might be mad at him and disown him For Real this time, plus he'd be miserable on the being-in-unrequited-love-with-Jeremy front again. Another flashback of October's Bathroom Attack flashed through his mind, of how he wished he just hadn't gone.

How did he let himself get here? He squeezed his fists and his eyes shut, trying to make the images and the thoughts go away. Jeremy would never hear it from him, but sometimes Michael really wished he'd just bought into the shiny, happy, squippy, perfect hive mind. Only sometimes, though.

Michael heard his mom open the front door and greet someone.

“Hey, Mrs. Mell!” Jeremy's voice carried through the walls like they'd never existed. Michael wasn't even sure he could deal with Jeremy just them, so he tried to close his eyes tighter in hopes that his friend (?) would either magically disappear or become miraculously easier to look at.

He heard Jeremy stop at the open bathroom door.

“Michael?” There was genuine concern in Jeremy's voice. “Michael, you're freaking me out, man.”

“Sorry,” he managed to squeeze out in response. He took a deep breath through his nose and let his body relax on the exhalation. Jeremy stepped into the bathroom and took his hand.

“T-talk to me?” Jeremy asked softly. Michael took another breath, then gave a thumbs-up with his free hand.

“I'm good. Stressed, is all.”

“What about?” Jeremy pulled him closer and pressed a kiss into Michael's cheek. It was a little too hard and done pretty awkwardly, but it was so… Jeremy-ey. Michael couldn't help but smile despite himself.

“It doesn't matter.”

“You can't keep giving me that answer,” Jeremy chided softly. “You can tell me anything.” Michael put his head on Jeremy's shoulder. He tried to put his troubles into words, but he just couldn't find the right ones.

His throat tightened up again and he squeezed Jeremy's hand. Jeremy squeezed back. When Michael opened his mouth to say something, all he could muster was a dry creak, so he just buried his face into the crook of Jeremy's neck. He wasn't sure if he was crying again or not; things had been really tearful lately and he wasn't sure he cared anymore.

“Okay, alright. It's okay.” He did his best to usher Michael back to his room and settle him with soft shushing (Jeremy always figured that was what you were supposed to do, since it always worked back when his mom did it). He curled his arms around Michael tightly, because he'd heard that one in psych class. It took a while, but Michael's choking sensation finally ceased.

“Do you love me?” Except he really did say it this time. He spoke slowly, and softly, and vulnerably. He wanted to tell Jeremy it was okay if he didn't, but it wasn't. Jeremy hardly skipped a beat.

“Yes.” Michael's chest felt like it was going to seize up again. His eyes were beginning to overflow with tears; part of him wished Jeremy had said no.

He hadn't exactly wanted to ask him - not because he didn't want to know, but because he knew either answer was going to demolish him. Unfortunately, in his shitty, hectic mental state, it had just _happened_. His chest hurt right up the middle and into his stomach, the way it always did whenever these pangs of emotions drowned out his hormone-addled teenage brain. Michael remembered having the name of that nerve somewhere… he couldn't remember. And now wasn't the time, anyway.

Now was the time to say, “I love you, too.” But he didn't say that, either, yet. Instead he said

“Then please _show_ me. ‘Cause I couldn't tell.” Which was, he recognized, a little shitty. At least he remembered to follow up with “And Jeremy, I love you so much it hurts me.” Because it did. Especially when he saw Jeremy with Christine. He refused to admit it, but he was starting to resent her just a touch, no matter how much she didn't deserve it. That was unfair to her.

Jeremy didn't respond with words, but he did respond. They'd been sitting on Michael's bed and Jeremy half-stood, half-knelt rather inelegantly to kiss Michael's cheeks, wet as they were. Then, nervously, he placed a knee between Michael's legs and leaned forward. Michael took the hint and moved back a little.

“I love you, Michael,” Jeremy breathed before their lips connected for the third time. “I love you,’ he repeated the fourth. Michael slipped a hand over Jeremy's cheek and traced his hand over his jawline like Jeremy was some lopsided, abstract, yet still precious statue and lay back fully. Jeremy followed his reversing fingertips, craving that soft contact.

Reclined the way he was, hand outstretched for Jeremy, Michael reminded him of Christine. No. No. No. Not Christine. Anyone except, right now. He suffocated the thought by chipping away at it in his mind and reallocating it as kisses, hard and a little needy, to Michael's jaw and neck. He even ventured to bite down once he got close enough to the neck of Michael's shirt.

“Jeremy!” Michael hissed, the almost-laugh not escaping Jeremy's notice. “Be careful!” Jeremy just smiled and bit harder, drawing the first earnest moan he'd gotten from Michael. It was a tiny, intoxicating noise that Jeremy wanted more of. His knee pressed gently up into Michael's groin, careful not to push too hard, which, knowing his clumsy self, probably wasn't too hard to do. Jeremy was still a fair bit unsure, because he'd never done much of anything - with much of anyone - before, despite his efforts this year. And porn was great and all, but even he knew it wasn't very much the educational source. Especially not for… whatever this was. Foreplay? Just regular play? His mind was drifting.

To his surprise, he must have done something right, because Michael bit his lip and started moving against him. Good. He came back up to kiss Michael again. But…

Jeremy was just getting nervous. The last time he had an earnest sexual encounter, he had the squip to use as a crutch. Put his hand here, move this, adjust this, say this, because that's what girls like. Now, it was just bare, unseasoned Jeremy. He tried to ignore all the little anxiety voices screaming at him, but his shaking hand gave him away. Michael broke their kiss.

“Stop…” Michael said breathlessly. His hand was still on Jeremy's cheek. Of course, Jeremy stopped.

“F-fuck, I'm sorry, what'd I do?” The look of concern was painful. This was what had Christine so worried?

“Nothing! Nothing, I just-” Michael cleared his throat. “I know what I said, but-”

“Do you wanna stop?”

“Do _you_?”

“I… no?” He wanted to show Michael, especially when it was phrased like that. But he wasn't enough. He was so terrible. He was inadequate without the squip. “… Yes?” he ventured softer. “Because…”

“Cause why?” Michael could see the little gears turning in Jeremy's head. He kissed him sweetly and quickly.

“I'm not good at this.”

“You don't have to be. Neither am I.” Michael gave a shallow smile and a shrug. “Whenever -- if ever -- you figure you're ready to try again, we can be terrible at it together.”

“What if I'm nervous, but I wanna try anyway?” Jeremy swallowed hard, eyes avoiding Michael's.

“Then… you do whatever you can-slash-want?”

“Michael, are you- are you nervous?”

“A little.” He paused. “More than a little.” They looked between the two of them; at some point Jeremy had slid his hand under Michael's shirt and was resting it on his waist, but his biceps were quivering from holding himself up so long. Meanwhile, Michael had realized that his legs were vibrating at a high enough frequency to communicate with certain other lifeforms. Michael was the one who laughed first.

It started with a grin, a perplexed look from Jeremy, and then a soft, almost cough-like chuckle. It quickly grew into a mirthful, forgiving laugh, like when they failed a level too many times because they hadn't read an instruction. It made Jeremy feel not-laughed-at, just… like laughing. So he let Michael infect him with it, gladly, and dropped beside him.

“I mean, _what_?!” Jeremy asked almost incredulously through his chuckling. “What are we so freaked about, right?”

 _Too much_ , thought Michael. He figured Jeremy thought the same, because their giggles died a little.

“I dunno, man. What made you so nervous?” Michael asked. He turned his head to look at Jeremy, who just shook his head.

“It's stupid. And I know I shouldn't mind it, or anything.”

“Is it something to do with her?”

“No, no, I mean… it's not because of Christine. I have the same problem with her. So, you know, it's not you, either.” Jeremy's hand fumbled around on the covers for a few moments before gripping at Michael's. Michael held back tightly enough that Jeremy felt a little better anchored.

“I had a feeling it wasn't me,” Michael said. “I don't mean that in, like, a cocky way, I just-”

“Yeah, I get it. Michael?”

“Yeah?”

“I'm really glad you get me. I think you probably know me a little better than I know me sometimes.”

“Sometimes? Try ‘all the time’,” Michael giggled in his weird, reverse laugh.

“Seriously. You're my best friend in the entire universe and I love you.” _Thwip_. It was an arrow that struck him hard but didn't hurt.

“I love you, too, Jeremy.” _More than anything_ , he didn't say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully we've ended feeling all warm and fuzzy. Of course, that can't last, now, can it?
> 
> **[A note, there will be _brief_ mature content in chapter 8, but I would rather not mark the entire work mature until I figure out whether or not there will be more/heavier content, so please be advised!]**
> 
> There will also be a warning at the end of Ch7 as a reminder! Thank you guys. :)


	7. Cups Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael attends a house party, with spirits high and spirits even higher.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This week, another DELTA TOPCO song, "Bambino" (https://soundcloud.com/delta_topco/bambino), so you can jam along to Rich's bumpin' tunes.

Michael wasn’t invited to many parties. Though, when Rich texted him and personally invited him to his, and not just to tag along with Jeremy, Michael couldn’t accept fast enough. He needed to break whatever routine he thought he had, because he couldn’t just keep Xboxing his brains out and getting stoned every day. It was getting boring, and he was stir-crazy.

Of course, the celebrity couple had been invited as well, and Jeremy had apologized in advance. Michael told him he understood, because he did, but he also told him there were no worries, which of course there were. There really hadn’t been “no worries” since this whole affair -- _ha_ \-- had started.

Michael drove the three of them to Rich’s party. Jeremy and Christine chatted excitedly, about how they’d never seen Rich’s house before, and the crush he was talking about the other week, and omg, do you think he’ll be there? Had Chloe and Jake broken up again? _For real_? Michael just turned his radio up. Only ten minutes to get there.

The moment they walked in, Jeremy and Christine’s friends were handing them all drinks in red and blue Solo cups. Michael took a sip -- that was _not_ beer. It was sharp and acrid and recalled memories of cold, white tile floors. Oh, well. They were planning on staying pretty much all night, anyway, since Christine told her parents she was staying over with Jenna, and Jeremy was staying over with Michael. Jeremy put an arm around Christine’s shoulders and they wandered off to socialize without even so much as a “see ya later”. Michael chugged his drink, earning a few cheers, and put his face on, the one that said “I’m so happy I’m here! Now someone get me another drink STAT.” One of the partygoers happily poured half of theirs into his cup, no real prompting required, and yelled over the music and her own intoxication, “Try that with my buddy Mr. PGA!” Michael scoffed. Whatever PGA was, he wasn’t afraid. He’d chugged straight vodka at a few parties. As he raised the cup to his lips, a hand snatched it.

“Woah there, Michael!” Rich laughed. “Don’t listen to them, take it slow!” He’d been working on his lisp, but there was still a bit of it resting in his speech and redeeming a few of his habitually automated responses by pumping him back up with some character. It especially showed now that he was already a little buzzed. Michael smiled. Of all the Cool kids, Rich was the least awful, and actually kind of his friend. They exchanged a fist-bump and Rich returned the cup.

“Yo, nice party, Rich,” Michael said. He sniffed the cup and screwed up his nose.

“Don’t smell that, just drink it. It’s purely functional.” Rich clapped him on the shoulder and gestured away from the crowd. Michael took a hearty gulp of the liquor - god, it burned at his stomach lining and his whole throat, maybe his soul - and followed him. Thank fuck it was cut with Sprite, or whatever knockoff lemon-lime fairy syrup it was. The first drink (probably) had already started to hit him, or maybe it was the atmosphere, and he felt a little better and less tense as they got into the kitchen.

Of course, there were almost as many people in the kitchen as there had been entering the house, but it seemed much quieter in there. The doors to the back patio and garage had been propped open, so people flowed freely through and the open windows allowed the sound to diffuse, instead of bouncing and multiplying off the reverb from the walls.

“Where’s your dad, Rich? I thought he was a bum.” Of course, Michael was already saying stupid shit. Thankfully, Rich didn’t seem to care.

“He’s gone for like, a week to visit some online girlfriend. And yeah, he is a bum.” Rich just shrugged the comment off, poured them both another drink with reckless abandon for any remaining cup contents, and sat on the smooth granite counter. Michael took a fearful sip. Whisky, mercifully. “I’m glad you could make it, man! After school ended you, like, dropped off the map.”

“Oh, yeah. I’ve been kinda holed up in my room. New game.” The two statements weren’t technically a lie; not everyone needed to know he was having the most confusing depressive-euphoric episode of his life. His thought was almost-comedically punctuated by the sound of glass breaking on the street outside. _Same_.

“Oh?” Rich’s demeanor perked up. “What game?”

“I just got a kind of old, pretty well-loved version of Banjo Kazooie. I’m a little obsessed with beating it right now.”

“Oh yeah, I remember that game!” Rich took a large drink from his cup. Michael barely had time to notice his hand shaking as he did, because that’s when Jeremy, Christine, and Jake came floating into the kitchen from the back yard. Jake stopped to give Rich a squinty look that the PGA was making really hard for Michael to place.

“Damn, Goranski, leave some for the rest of us,” Jake laughed. Michael eventually traced his line of sight to the bottle of whisky. Jake’s statement hadn’t been particularly funny, but Michael and Rich both chuckled anyway. Rich shot Jake the bird as he raised his cup again.

“Fuck off, Dillinger!”

“Alright, I see that clearly some weird Alpha display is about to begin. Jeremy, let’s get out of here before you get infected,” Christine said and looped her arm through Jeremy’s as they both grinned.

“Aw, sure, Christine!” Michael laughed and raised his cup. “Leave me here to fend for myself! I feel the male dominance taking over!” He downed what sip or two was left and beat his chest like an ape, a true show. To poke fun at Christine, Jake and Rich started in, too, until she swept Jeremy away with an eyeroll and a giggle. Maybe it was just him, but her laugh sounded a little tight.

Rich watched them go. Jake watched Rich. Both of them had been drinking longer than Michael, and they seemed a little off-balance. Michael realized he was staring after everyone else in the same weird, dreamy, swimmy way. He felt outside of everything.

They all seemed to snap out of it at once. Jake just left for the living room to mingle without saying another word. Rich plucked a random bottle of flavored vodka from the countertop without looking and hopped down.

“Come with me,” Rich said and waved his hand. Michael held onto his empty cup awkwardly, unsure of whether to toss it or keep it, but followed. They went upstairs and Rich pointed to one of the doors in the hall. “That’s the, uh. The bonus room. If you come over sometime, we should game!” He nudged Michael with his shoulder, then pointed down the other end of the hall to the open doorway of a room he couldn’t quite see into.

“And this’s like, supposed to be my dad’s ‘man cave’ or office or something,” Rich continued, heading in that direction. He had a little bit of trouble with that sentence between the lisp and the liquor, but managed through it with minimal stumbling. As they entered, Michael saw that it was like a smaller, secondary living room. It had a couch in it and a table, but it was mostly books and a computer desk. “But the whole house is kinda his man cave, so I usually hang out up here.” Surprisingly, only two other people were up there, but they’d passed out on one another -- two girls whose hairstyles now were wild messes, but their makeup, at least, hadn’t betrayed them and gone astray.

Rich flopped down on the loveseat, away from them, and opened the vodka bottle. Michael sat next to him and thought about how he read how alcoholism ran in families. When Rich offered him the liquor, though, he drank. Of course he drank; it was a party. That was what you did. It burned better, or easier, maybe, than the girl’s PGA (which Rich informed him stood for “pure grain alcohol,” and “pungent, gratuitous acid”) and went down much easier. That said, it was still cheap and tasted a touch like burnt spun sugar and cardboard.

“Jesus, what _is_ that?”

“Uh, marshmallow? I think?” Rich tried to squint at the bottle as Michael moved it around. “I dunno.”

“Tastes like… like…” His brain was fuzzing up and frosting over. His hands were warm. He felt better.

“Like shit, yeah.” Rich grinned and leaned back into the seat, still looking at Michael. “But it was free, right? So who cares?”

“That’s fair enough, I guess. Hey,” Michael said, “was Jake okay?”

A girl shouted downstairs, a victory screech. It sounded familiar, but Michael’s world didn’t extend far past the loveseat. The long-ish hallway the sound had to echo down added another layer of distance between him and the rest of the planet. Cheers followed shortly after.

“Yeah, I guess he’s fine. He got feelings for one’a Christine’s friends, and I guess she’s still a lil’ sore about what happened last year between them. So she told him she wasn’t gonna introduce them or something.”

“Oh. Shit.” Michael took another drink. He couldn’t really feel the burn anymore, but the taste was just as bad. “That’s rough.”

“Yeah, I guess it’s fair though. I dunno. It’s not my business though.” He held out his hand expectantly. “Yo, I uh, I never said it before…” Michael handed Rich the vodka, and he took a few sips before continuing. “But thanks for coming to see me in the hospital.” He looked down at the soft, pink scars that now mottled his hands, arms, and his left ear. Rich’s squip had the self-preservation programming to keep him from sticking most things from his shoulders and up into the flames, but from what he’d told Michael, he’d fought hard. There were some spots on his face that were discolored from where he’d been superficially burned, but those weren’t as off-putting as the more major scars could be to some people. He put the bottle between his knees and ran his fingers over the scars on the back of his hand. “I really appreciated it.”

Michael looked down where Rich was stroking his scars, and reached down to touch his hand. He wondered what they felt like. Everyone else pretended not to see them or to care. Michael had thought before, in his room, alone and high, about how maybe Rich had wanted somebody to notice, if only so he knew that person didn’t mind them.

Rich let him touch the scars, and breathed out softly as he did.

“They’re tender sometimes, or tingly. Doc said that’s just from where it’s healing, but usually I can’t even feel that much. Like now, kinda, ‘specially since I’ve had a few...” His eyes fixed on Michael’s hand. “Feels like I’m a fuckin’ freak.”

“You’re not!” Michael said quickly. In some instinct or reflex, his hand closed around Rich’s.

“‘M not...?”

“No way. That was like, kind of stupid, ‘n kinda crazy, but brave as hell! If you hadn’t almost, you know-”

“Died?”

“Yeah. You’d have been awesome!”

“Really?” Rich smiled lopsidedly and looked back up. He had a spacey little sparkle in his eye and the smile was true. Before he even knew he had, Michael smiled back.

“Yeah, Rich.” They noticed they were leaning heavily against each other, shoulder-to-shoulder, and Michael realized how _close_ Rich was. And how badly he wanted to hug Rich. And comfort him. And kiss someone, like, anyone was alright, he guessed, but he realized he was actually really glad it was Rich here, and not “someone”. He wanted to kiss _Rich_ specifically. Rich should be with someone nice, he thought. Probably out loud. Inside, he thought Rich would be better off with someone better than a lying cheater like him.

“You say something?” Rich asked. Michael wondered if he really was a cheater. Technically not; _he’d_ never cheated.

“You should be with someone nice. Someone you like,” Michael admitted. He recalled Jerstine’s idle chatter in the car. He wondered who Rich’s crush was, and why Rich wasn’t with that person now. Maybe they stood him up.

“You’re nice.”

“Yeah, but you shouldn’t date me.”

“Oh…” Rich’s eyebrows knitted. “Is it ‘cause-”

“Nononono, no. No, no, I’ve just gotta lotta issues right now. You’re fine and great.” Rich sat their bottle on the floor as Michael said it, and with neither pomp nor circumstance, leaned forward and kissed Michael. He kissed softer than Jeremy did, with less force and with more… something sweet.

“I got issues, too…” Rich shrugged sheepishly as they parted.

“A lot of, uh, _stuff_ is going on right now.” Michael had to wade through the sentence on his heavy tongue. “But, fuck, I really wanna be kissing you right now.” Truth serum hour had started to hit.

“Me too,” Rich breathed out, and they reconnected. He pulled Michael into him, and despite Michael’s size, Rich was happy to drag him into his lap. After a few minutes had passed, Michael realized what Jeremy had really meant about sore knees, but he was happy and didn’t complain.

“You wanna go to my room?”

“ _Yes_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Just a quick reminder that on Ch8 next week there will be some brief mature content, so please be forewarned! As always, please leave comments, kudos, and of course, music recommendations!


	8. Cardinal Virtue Mythical

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A love story inside a microcosm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter presented by Elemental95 - "BALENTS": (https://soundcloud.com/elemental95/balents)  
> Last warning and reminder that there is brief mature content in this chapter. <3

Rich held Michael’s hand. He held his hand, with the fingers laced in between his own, and he held tightly. Closing the door behind them, Rich grinned and reached up to curl his fingers behind Michael’s neck and bring him down to his level. He was grinning and trying to kiss him. Michael couldn’t help but chuckle when their teeth clacked together. But instead of the whole operation breaking down this time, Rich just let the moment happen organically and pulled Michael toward the bed, reconnecting the kiss.

Michael’s eyes were shut and the world spun, rocked, and floated in weird directions. He felt himself falling up, and then he felt Rich’s bed against his back. Michael was still holding Rich’s hand, but his other reached up and managed to grip Rich’s shirt -- the first thing he came into contact with. His Rich-hand was getting crushed into the firm mattress by Rich’s weight. At first, he almost didn’t notice, but once he had, he tried to shake himself free to flip them over.

Rich didn’t so much help as he just flopped over and took Michael’s hand back to pull him back to him. Michael kissed at all the weird-colored splotches of skin, the scarred back of his hand, his relaxed, drunken smile, the collar bones that had finally started gaining back a healthy bit of weight for the first time since the last of his bandages came off.

Michael traced a thin line (he thought) from the hollow of Rich’s neck up his throat and jaw with his tongue, and followed it back down with warm breath and the tip of his nose.

“You’re fucking sweet,” Rich mumbled in a low voice. “Like, in a good way.” Michael didn’t answer. He didn’t know how to, really, so instead he lifted Rich’s shirt up and started kissing again. His scars were spotty, not uniform or all over like he the one up his arm. Some spots were smoother and relatively undamaged like his face, and others were textured. Michael liked it, but not the tragedy it represented.

“Keep going,” Rich instructed. “Please, Michael?” Now _that_ was nice. Michael liked that. So Michael kept going. He got to Rich’s waistband and looked up. Rich bit his lip and let out a pained “ _Please_.” The sound of it seemed to drag out for a decade. Michael popped the first button on Rich’s jeans.

“Say my name again,” Michael said, way more coolly than he thought he was going to. Rich hissed and bucked his hips.

“Michael, I’m begging you, man.”

Fuck. That was drunk Michael’s catnip. He readjusted his position so he could get lower, and ended up at the foot of the bed on his knees. Rich was already sliding his pants down over his hips eagerly, but clumsily, and at the same time trying to move so Michael had access to his groin.

Michael looped his arms under Rich’s legs to pull him down to the end of the bed. Rich had managed to get his pants down far enough that Michael could reach up and hook his fingers under the waistband of Rich’s green briefs. He came up to bite and suck what would later be a large, discolored hickey into Rich’s hipbone. Rich really seemed to like that.

The room still felt like a goddamned cruise ship on LSD, but for Michael that just seemed to add another level of excitement.

“Jesus, Michael, please,” Rich said, reaching down and pushing his fingers up through Michael’s hair. “Stop teasing, shit.” That earned a soft chuckle from Michael, who pulled Rich’s briefs down just enough so he had access.

Rich wasn’t hard, and Michael had been prepared for some level of whiskey dick, but in all honesty he took it as a personal challenge from the universe. He gave Rich a few slow pumps, causing Rich’s breath to catch and deepen in anticipation, then heard a low groan as he dragged his flat tongue upwards from the base. Rich let his head fall back onto the quilt and breathed out some soft, impatient profanity that Michael didn’t quite catch. It wasn’t his best work to date, Michael thought to himself, but he was drunkish, and there was time.

Except,

That’s the moment Jake and two other assholes burst in laughing. Their initial goal must have been just to embarrass Rich, but their laughter died down as Rich scrambled to put his dick away and the three who had just come on the scene started to register and recognize who had just been connected to it.

Michael could only return Jake with a glassy, shocked stare, and got a similar one back with the added “agape mouth” and “confused intrigue” features.

“ _Mell_?”

“Jake,” Michael said dryly. Really dryly. Rich zipped his jeans up and stood. Michael did his best to stand, but between the liquor and the sudden rush of adrenaline and the people, his balance betrayed him and lurched him into Rich’s shoulder. Once he righted himself, he realized exactly who was standing behind Jake.

“Wow, Mikey,” said that slimy voice that made his stomach turn. “Long time no see. Come here-” Bryan’s eyes shifted to Rich for a moment. “-uh, _often_?” He laughed and elbowed a friend Michael hadn’t seen before. The friend, of course, followed suit.

“No, no, I just-”

“No?” Bryan antagonized. “So you just get down on your knees and suck any dick in front of you?” Michael’s face heated up, more than it had been from the alcohol alone.

“No, I didn’t mean-” And then Rich cut him off with a scoff. Something in his eyes detached and he straightened up his shirt.

“Whatever.” Rich’s tone carried none of the gravity it had when they were sitting on the couch talking just a few minutes prior, and he even smirked. Drunk Michael was having a hard time processing what was going on. “Screw you guys, I guess I’ll just get someone else to fuckin’ do it,” he laughed. Had Michael been a little more sober, he might have recognized in the moment exactly the magnitude of the bus Rich threw him under in one sentence. Precisely how scapey the goat was. Rich shrugged him off his shoulder.

“What? Wait…” Michael righted himself and tried to stand steady. Rich just laughed, patted him on the back, and walked out, saying something like, “I need another drink” to the guys.

“Wow, Michael,” Bryan said, stepping forward. “You’re absolutely sloshed, aren’t you?” He had his stupid, sly, I-know-something-you-don’t smile on, and Jake started to sidle out. “No, no, Jake, don’t leave us yet. Mikey’s gonna party with _us_.” Jake frowned and looked back at Michael, but didn’t say anything else. Michael knew it was pointless to try and escape, so he didn’t fight as Bryan clamped an arm around his shoulders like a vice.

Where was Jeremy when he really needed him? He decided in that moment he wasn’t going to any more parties. Never.

He didn’t see Jeremy downstairs once. Not in passing, not passed out drunk in the corner, not macking on Christine, who was also missing. It was a crowded party, though, and they blended enough that he might have just missed them. Michael was taken into the garage, where most of the kids that lingered there had been softly talking. There was some cheap lawn furniture someone had brought, though not much else.

Michael didn’t remember anyone stopping to pick up anything, but Bryan sat the group down at the flimsy card table someone had set up, and another person put down three 40s and a bottle of Coke down in front of them. Bryan made a point of sitting next to Michael.

Bryan calmly started pouring drinks, and the tension in the group was palpable; no one said a word. A few people from around the room had come to sit with them out of curiosity, and now couldn’t leave due to some unspoken rule or frozen fascination. A few of the partygoers looked intrigued, or confused, or -- like Jake -- visibly anxious, but no one spoke out. Jake looked at Michael like he was trying to communicate something, but Michael didn’t get it.

The last cup was half a solo cup of cheap tequila, the stuff that feels like it’s bleaching your nose hairs more with each shot, and a splash of Coke, just to be cheeky. That one Byan slid over to Michael, then distributed the rest of the normal drinks to everyone else.

“Guess we get to see if you spit or swallow, Mell!” As if cued, the group started laughing. God, the assholes.

“This’ll fucking kill me, man. Hell, no.” That was certainly liquid courage trying to come to Michael’s ruin and rescue.

“So?” There was silence as they stared at each other. Everyone else sipped at their drinks stiffly. When Michael made no move to drink, Bryan smiled. “Need help?” He took hold of Michael’s jaw, surprisingly solidly, pushing his head back and digging his fingers between Michael’s teeth through the cheek so he could hold his mouth open like people do to dogs, and started pouring the practically-straight tequila into his mouth.

Michael spluttered and coughed and tried to turn his head, but Bryan wouldn’t let him. It dribbled down his chin and soaked through his short into his skin. Michael understood something in that moment: Bryan was God. Not the little “g” kind, like one of many. No, he was the almighty, number one. And as fucking Yahweh or Odin or Cronos or whatever-he-was let go, Michael’s eyes were watering. He wiped at his mouth, suppressed a gag, and looked up at his laughing peers. This was a gathering of disciples, and what was Michael?

“Dude,” slurred one of the drunken prophets, “dude do it again. The _face_ he made!” Bryan looked over at Michael and nodded to the cup. Michael shook his head furiously in response, eyes wide in fear.

“Looks like it’s the fun way again? At least we know your preference now, fairy boy!” He reached for Michael again but was interrupted.

“Michael!” It was Christine and Jeremy’s singular voice, the too-tandem one they’d gotten as a result of being way too far up each others’ asses. Thankfully, they both seemed fairly sober, though flushed and a little disheveled.

“Michael, we- we couldn’t find you anywhere,” Jeremy added.

“Yeah, fuck off, Heere,” Bryan said. “We’re having a good time without ya.”

“Well, he’s our ride,” Christine tried by way of excuse. He didn’t take it. “We’ll be done soon. Amber? Get these kids outta here.” A girl with dip-dyed purple tips slammed her drink and threw the cup at Jeremy.

“Don’t make me get up, dork,” she slurringly warned the two. “You’re being a whiny whore.”

“Amber.” She sighed in response and got up anyway.

“You wanna join him?” She growled at Christine, who said something brave, but Michael didn’t quite hear what; he’d tried to get up between all the bickering and felt Bryan’s hand yank him back down by the elbow. He was handed the tequila cup.

“Go on, take a big one for Andy here,” Bryan said, grinning. Michael hesitated but… having his face grabbed like that just once was degrading enough, in addition to everything else that had happened so far. He took a drink, but backwashed over half of it and marveled at his own drunken ingenuity. “There’s a good man! See?” he directed to Christeremy, “He’s fine! We’re just having some bevs. Chill?” Jeremy prickled at the word.

“ _Chill,_ ” he spat back. “But we really gotta get home, so if you could just give my friend back.” he spoke through a stiff jaw over Michael’s liquor-hoarse coughing. Bryan checked his phone, then sighed.

“You know what? Take him,” he said, as he started to type. “I got somewhere else to be.” Michael never in his life felt so lucky. Christine came over to help him up and she and Jeremy walked him to the car.

“Crap. How are we getting home?” Jeremy asked halfway across the lawn.

“I, uh. I could drive. I have a permit… and I’m almost done with driving classes?”

“Fine, I guess.” Jeremy still hadn’t even gotten his. He and Christine deposited a groaning Michael into the back seat. His eyes already hurt in anticipation of the hangover he was going to have, and his lips were numb.

“Just… take it easy,” Michael grumbled and curled up across the seats.

They made it back to Michael’s without a mishap -- though Christine did brake a little extra hard on an iffy switchback once -- and Jenna Rolan met them to pick her up once they told her what happened. It wasn’t like she wouldn’t find out, anyway. Michael managed to wake up, get Jeremy and himself inside the house, and make as little noise as possible. Thankfully, his parents didn’t stir.

“Fuck!” Michael whisper-screamed as he closed his bedroom door. “ _Fuck._ ” He shuffled to his bed and flopped down heavily, face first.

“Hey, are you okay?” Jeremy asked. He reached for Michael’s shoe to help him get it off, but Michael kicked at him and sat up to do it himself.

“Fuckin’... peachy,” he grumbled. He fumbled with his shoelaces until he got frustrated and let Jeremy help him. Fuck double knots. “Where _were_ you?”

“I… well.” His face heated up and turned pink. “Christine-”

“You know what, _fuck_ Christine, okay? I get it,” Michael hoped he was intelligible, because his mouth was heavy and his head was cottony and he didn’t have the energy for anger but there he was. “I get it. She’s… your girlfriend. And she’s pretty and sweet or whatever-” Jeremy helped Michael get his shirt off while he ranted, “-- but I’ve been your friend for a _long. time._ Fuck the part where I’m so fucking in love with you I let you _cheat_ on your like, One True Love because I’m selfish, and I let you treat me like your third unused fuckin’ spell slot. Fuck that, man. You’re my _best_ friend _ever_. And when I needed you, I couldn’t even fucking find you!”

“I’m sorry,” Jeremy said softly. He leaned in to kiss Michael’s cheek but was blocked again and pushed away.

“Man, I bet you are! I heard you guys talking in the car, you know. Like, how she’s mad at you right now, because you make her feel fucking worthless or unpretty or something? Just because I put up with you doesn’t mean you get to use me like a fuckin’ backup plan to make yourself feel better. ‘N for the record, you don’t have to hang out with me for pity. What the _fuck_ did that computer do to your head? Or… or were you just always like this? And I’ve been an idiot? God! Jus- just get out of my face. I can put my damn self to bed.”

“Okay,” Jeremy’s soft, breaking voice replied. He had tears in his eyes but nodded and did as he was told.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surely you didn't think they were gone forever? Don't worry, these dark days ahead will light the path for something much, much brighter. (Hint hint: Chapter ten is pretty pure. Have hope, have faith, and happy Yule/merry Christmas/joyous whatever you celebrate!)


	9. The Hermit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introspection and guidance, the path to power.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's song: "This Will Make You Love Again" by IAMX (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7QCwUaZOTis) It's _super_ emo sounding, I know, and I'm sorry in advance.

Michael rolled over and checked his phone. 10 AM. He wanted to roll back over and go back to sleep, but then he noticed he had a text.

Rich: I’m so sorry

It was time stamped a few minutes after Michael and the gang had left the party. All Michael could do was stare at it. The rainbow squares on his screen lost meaning after a while, and he was spurred to motion.

He pushed the blankets down and pulled his body up. He felt heavy, his head throbbed, and he craved a burrito and a dark pair of sunglasses. Michael cursed the one far window with the ripped blackout curtain, where it cast a thin yet strong beam of late morning sun at the foot of his bed. Dust floated across the beam and lit up like the missing, dead pixels on his TV had run away and multiplied.

All he felt was gravity shifting to slam into the back of his skull. He pitched forward and his head landed in his hands with a groan, so he stayed there until the residual rocking passed. He eventually rose to his feet, steadied himself, and went to the bathroom to brush the tequila out of his taste buds. Or, that was the plan. The door was locked, and Michael could hear Jeremy running the water in the sink and mumbling to himself, though what, he wasn’t sure.

He sighed and waited, and eventually the door swung open. Jeremy looked at him with clear, wide eyes and a look of guilt smeared over his expression. He stood where he was, maybe to say something, but he just let the silence stagnate. Michael’s sleepy gaze wavered only to glance at the toilet over Jeremy’s shoulder.

“Dude…” his throat scratched out, “If you have something to say to me, I _get_ it. But I gotta piss, and I might get sick, so.” Jeremy’s expression didn’t particularly change, but he nodded and shuffled aside so Michael could go in. With an undignified amount of bodily fluids having been flushed from his system, he felt marginally better. Michael exited to face Jeremy, who had obediently stayed put.

Michael had realized while he was cleaning up and brushing his teeth in the bathroom that he had light, finger-shaped bruises along his cheeks that lined up with his teeth, and once he stepped out he realized that was likely a good deal of the reason Jeremy was staring at him the way he was. How was he going to cover that up from his parents?

“So…” Michael sighed, “Let me have it. Tell me how much of a douche I was last night. I don’t remember it all, but I remember some of it.” He fidgeted with his fingers, twisting and tweaking them in weird ways.

“I’m sorry I left you alone.” Michael paused. Jeremy sounded so resolute. “This whole situation is shitty. Christine thinks something is wrong with me because she asks questions I don’t have answers to. I keep fucking things up with you. I shouldn’t have left you alone at a party where popular kids were.”

Michael found himself at a loss for words. He expected Jeremy to be pissed at him for whatever he said the night before, and maybe even wanted it in some weird, masochistic way where he’d much rather be the villain than Jeremy, because he only has ever wanted to protect him.

“So, with that said,” Jeremy took a deep breath. “This whole thing is a bad idea.” Michael’s heart sunk. He knew it was true, but now that he was really being faced with the reality of this all being yanked out from under his feet, he’d happily keep suffering to keep Jeremy, in any capacity. His hands started shaking as Jeremy opened his mouth again. “I don’t know what to do anymore, and I feel bad hurting both of you. This is fucked up, and you guys deserve better than… _Me_. That’s what Christine and I were fighting about.”

“Jeremy, that’s… that’s not what I meant. And that’s not how I meant it.” Michael’s shoulders fell and he stopped twisting his fingers around. The air was so still that if he listened really close, he could swear he heard those dust pixels landing on the ground, until he heard his parents’ TV switch on downstairs. They were up, so they spoke low. “And sorry, I shouldn’t have even said anything about you and Christine arguing.”

“No, I mean… it’s still not wrong. I- uh, I really don’t wanna say anything to Christine about what I did,” _we_ , thought Michael, “but. I think this has gotta be it. I’m sorry.”

Michael practically saw spots across his vision.

Jeremy had said he loved him, and was so ready to drop him like that.

“You’re staying with her though, right?” Of course, Michael figured, because Jeremy _fought_ for her. Worked for her and the right to date her.

“Yeah.”

“Good…” Michael felt his throat tighten up. “I’m… again, really-”

“You don’t have to be sorry. You didn’t do anything wrong. I just… I made a mistake.”

Hell knows Jeremy had made a lot of them, but Michael couldn’t help feeling that he was the mistake Jeremy was referring to. That wasn’t true, though, right?

“So… you want me to take you home?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

* * *

 

They didn’t talk for a couple of weeks. For the both of them, knowing whatever unresolved romantic tension hung between them still stood frozen in midair like a snapshot of a bumblebee -- precarious and clumsy and incorrect -- was far too stressful to face and work through just yet. Michael was fine with that.

Michael had been on the decline since far before the breakup. But now, he was staying confined to his room and his basement, playing games and smoking weed, oddly reminiscent of the exact thing he feared, except he wasn’t trying to destroy precious keepsakes this time.

He’d thought about asking Rich over once, regretted it, and never went through with it. He wasn’t the revenge-sex type, he realized. He was just tired of everything, and of yearning for something he couldn’t have, and of being betrayed by his friends over and over. He was tired of the phone not ringing.

He realized, for real, that he wasn’t worth it.

Michael was the first to get dropped whenever things were inconvenient, right? He was always the first to get thrown under the bus, right? He was always the first to get left in the dust, right? He was always the second in line compared to everything else, right?

It was Monday, midday. As good a time to have a breakdown as ever, with his parents at work and no neighbors home, either, probably. The thoughts in his head had been festering for these long, disproportionately loud weeks, reverberating like the sound in Rich’s house at the party, like the way his screams bounced back off the concrete walls in the far-off janitor’s closet at school, the one with the crack in the corner that he stared at because it was closer to the door than anything else of description and it was an easy focal point when he regained the courage to open his eyes, and like Christine’s laughter when Jeremy said something funny and charming and lovable and honest, and like the echoes he knew Jeremy still heard of the fucking squip.

He caught himself in the mirror as he threw Jeremy’s controller against the wall, and really looked at himself.

He didn’t see anything redeemable. He didn’t see anything worthwhile. Michael figured, time to carry out the sentence.

It was scarier than he thought it would be. He tried to tell himself that there’d be no fear, just relief, just peace, just… something. Nothing. He panicked last-minute and called for help. He went to the hospital, was put under watch or some shit, and felt more dead than he figured he might have felt if he had succeeded. Nobody called, and there was no fuss on Facebook that he saw when he returned, and certainly not at all like the fanfare and praise Rich got when he set Jake’s house alight.

God, his life seemed to revolve around that night.

Michael hated thinking about it, he hated thinking about himself, he hated thinking about Jeremy and Rich and Christine, Jesus, _especially_ Christine, and he hated himself, and he hated this fucking town, and his house, and the drugs weren’t working ( _“It takes up to two weeks to see real effects, sometimes longer”_   fuck them), and the therapy wasn’t working and this just wasn’t working out.

And then Christine actually called.

He almost cried when he heard the phone vibrating through his pillow against his cheek. Someone thought about him. Weeks too late, but they _did_ and… and… when he frantically dug his cell out from the pile of stashed Doritos bags overflowing with tear-soaked tissues and saw the name on his screen, he broke. His eyes silently overflowed and his breathing stopped, because why was she the one to think of him, after his social death? Of course, Michael considered the possibility that she was calling because Jeremy’s guilty conscious finally got the better of him and he blabbed, and that she was on the other side ready to bitch him out. Which he’d deserve.

“Uh… hello?” His voice wavered with anxiety and the effort of restraining his tears.

“Hey,” Christine almost whispered into the phone. Her voice was soft and warm, and it was the nicest thing he’d heard since the last time he heard her speak.

“Oh. Hey, Christine. How are you?”

“I’m alright. How are you doing? I’m sorry I didn’t call sooner.” She didn’t make excuses; she just apologized.

“Uh. I’m okay.” He realized he sounded as groggy and half-existent as he felt.

“You wanna go out for coffee? I haven’t seen you in a while.” What?

“Yeah, yeah, sure… today?” Why did he agree to that? He didn’t want to go. He kind of did, but he didn’t.

“If you can! I just… I don’t want you to be all alone right now.” She couldn’t tell that he started crying all over again, his eyes squeezed tight and his hand pressed so hard against his mouth that he had recalls to Bryan’s fingerprints on his jaws.

They met up at a Starbucks halfway between the both of them, Michael in his car and Christine in her mom’s. She must have finally taken her driving test. They ordered, took their seats, and Michael sat quietly until Christine thought he was worthy of her kind words.

“So… I heard about what happened. I’m so sorry.” She spoke low into her frappuccino.

“Wasn’t your fault.” Mostly.

“I should have been there for you. I… I knew something wasn’t right. I should have said something, but I wrote out this list, while you were in the hospital. I wasn’t sure when you were gonna be out, and then I saw that thing you shared on Facebook, and I figured you were probably home, then. Anyway, can I read it to you? It’s a good list, not a bad one or anything.”

Michael nodded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I encourage you all to look up the meanings for the ninth major arcana tarot card, The Hermit. It's one of my favorites.


	10. 52 Notecard Pickup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, the sobering slap to the face you need isn't always unpleasant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's some mood music: "I Was a Fool" - Sunflower Bean (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rm6ZtALw5KM)

Christine dug in her purse and pulled out a small square of folded paper. It looked like she’d been carrying it for a while, or maybe her purse was just that dirty. She unfolded it like it just couldn’t open up quickly enough, glanced down the list, and looked back up at Michael with big eyes that said so many things at once.

“Here, let’s… we should sit in your car or something.”

“Okay.” And so they went. It was hot with a cool breeze, and when Michael rolled down his windows it wasn’t so bad. Christine climbed into his passenger seat and smoothed her skirt out before putting the list on her lap.

“It’s kind of long; I got carried away. But I hope, y’know. I hope you get it. Okay, so:” She took a breath, and time seemed to slow to a stop in the anticipation. Michael could think of one good thing on a good list about him, but certainly not a whole page. She carried on.

“These are things that I thought about while you were away. It didn’t really do it justice to say that I missed you, because it’s more than your presence that was missing. Every day at school, you’re usually one of the first people I see. You have a positive demeanor, and a contagious smile, and it’s like the best cup of morning coffee. Now that it’s summer, I found myself missing you more, and I realized that I should let you know.

“You’re loyal, and you’re kind. I’ve never known someone as prepared as you to go to the ends of the earth to help someone, even if they aren’t necessarily your friend. Despite the fact that we’re peers, I really look up to you for that. Further than your loyalty, your kindness seems to reach out forever. Um, some of these are dumb. But I’m going to say them anyway, okay?”

Michael’s eyes had started to water, and he was looking at her with his face resting on the steering wheel.

“Okay,” he wheezed out. Her thoughtfulness hit him like a punch in the gut, right where his guilt for convincing himself that he hated her sat. She nodded and looked back down at her paper. It had bullet points and scribbles all over it, some lines crossed out and written back longer.

“Um… So, first thing: you’re amazingly kind. That’s kind of a cliché, but it’s true. Remember that time Rich asked a question in class, and the teacher thought he was being facetious?”

He did. Rich had raised his hand to ask a question about the video they were watching, and Ms. Rayburn snapped at him for being a smartass. _Stop mocking the class and wasting our time, Mister Goranski._ Except he wasn’t, he was genuinely confused. His squip must have been off, or maybe he was pre-squip then. It was Sophomore year, and he was surprised that Christine even remembered it. Rich had looked so small then, closed in on himself, and he shrunk as the teacher scolded him.

“But you stood up for him,” Christine went on. “And she kicked you out of class, but you didn’t even seem to care. Rich was really thankful for that, I remember…

“And you’re smart, on that note.” She flipped the paper over once, then back. Then again. Checking something she knew, but forgot, like a monologue not quite memorized. “Like, really smart. You always downplay yourself, but I see when you get your tests back in the classes we have together, they’re always As and Bs, and you’re on Honor Roll!” She smiled over at Michael. “That’s amazing. You have all of these bright ideas and revelations, you know, and I wish I were half as mentally dextrous as you…” Christine chewed her lip and spoke softer. “You could do anything you put your mind to, and I wish you’d credit yourself a little more.”

“Christine, I-” Michael’s voice rasped through his vocal cords and managed its way out, somehow. “I appreciate that, but…”

“But what? I know everyone says you’re just some stoner kid, but I really… I really believe in you. Don’t you dare brush it off; you say things that are insightful, and amazing. You ask questions that make me question what I know about things like cultural constructs and the deeper motivations of _historical figures_ and how _string theory_ plays into our biology lessons, for Christ’s sake!” She laughed and nearly flung the paper out of her hand. Michael figured that bit was a little off-script. “One day after something you said in class, I went home and had an itty-bitty little existential crisis and I loved _every_ second of it. Your mind is… so fascinating, and I would love to just sit down with you sometime and listen to your views on spirituality, philosophy, politics, whatever you want… Which… segues perfectly…” She looked down at her paper and tapped a tiny note that had one word, underlined. “You’re passionate. About your friends, about… I don’t know. A lot of things.”

They sat and talked for over an hour, Christine owning and dominating the conversation. Michael was happy she did; as much as he didn’t feel like believing half the things she said, he was glad to hear it. But at the same time she lifted him up, his guilt brought him down. Here was Christine, beautiful and bright, and one of his best friends ever, he was realizing, and his mind threw back to the previous few months over and over and over again. He stopped her in the middle of talking and pulled her into a hug.

“Thank you. Thank you so much. You’ve got… the biggest heart, Christine.”

They were positioned fairly awkwardly over the armrests, but Christine hugged back just as tightly.

“You, too, Michael.” He let go, reluctant to do so. Christine kept hold of his hand. He wanted to tell her, but he was too anxious. More than anxious, more than nervous, he was _terrified_. “Hey. You know what I’m gonna do?”

“What?”

“Every day, I’m going to send you a text with another thing I like about you. So that you never forget that you’re great. And worthy.”

Michael smiled and squeezed her hand. He didn’t know what to say, so he just nodded and accepted what she said.

“Thank you, Christine.”

“Any time, Michael… Um. So, I should probably get going home, I told my mom I’d have the car back so she could go grocery shopping. But thanks for coming out to meet me.”

“Thanks for calling.” She had no idea what it meant to him, and he couldn’t put it into words.

“You’re welcome. Alright… bye.” She opened the door and waved at him as she closed it, then waved again as she got in her mom’s car and drove away.

Michael was in no hurry to go back home; there was nothing there for him. Video games, Doritos, ramen, leftover spaghetti, a book he’d been trying to read for three weeks, a movie he’d started eight times, crumbs on the floor, dust on his old tube TV set that he used specifically for NES and Atari (“for the experience!”). He went back anyway.

For the first time since his return, Michael didn’t hide out in his room or the basement like a hibernating cave animal. For the first time since then, he sat by the window, downstairs, in the living room, and watched the cars come and go in the lazy afternoon. He didn’t feel _better_ , per se, but he had the energy to try to feel better, and that was the world to him in that moment. He had the motivation to do something different, change up the heavy routine he’d acquired. Christine had pulled him out of the drain spiral and he was breaking free of orbit like a renegade comet.

 _Maybe not a comet,_ he thought, scrunching up his nose. Those were too fast and energetic. Then again, they were chilly and isolated which matched up pretty well with how he felt, but still surrounded by the planets they zoomed past and visited once in a while. _Okay, yeah. A comet is fine. I’m a renegade comet. That’s fucking poetic._

His mom woke him up when she got home and asked if he was okay. He figured she was owed that; this was abnormal behavior which the doctors said to watch out for or whatever, but he assured her that he felt better today than he had most days. She seemed relieved at that. He returned to his room, however, and she seemed a little saddened at that, but he softened the blow with a cheek kiss and a reassurance.

_Buzz._

Jeremy: I should apologize.

Michael sighed. He didn’t want to answer.

Jeremy: I’m a piece of shit for putting you through that. You’re still my best friend, and I got defensive. I’m sorry.

Michael sighed again, with more frustration and force this time. He _wanted_ to answer, to correct himself before, but he didn’t think Jeremy should get one right now. Besides, his therapist had warned him not to respond out of anger or frustration. Jeremy didn’t deserve any more ire from Michael than he’d already given, and at that moment, he had so much more to offer.

He wanted to call him and scream at him. He didn’t even know what _about_ , he mostly just wanted to yell unintelligibly into the receiver until Jeremy got fed up and hung up on him or started crying. Something. But Jeremy was human, and he was more than well-known for making mistakes, so Michael was deciding to sit back and take a few deep breaths. And not to answer.

His phone went off a few times, but he didn’t look at them too closely. If it said “Jeremy” at the top, he deleted it without reading.

Rich messaged him, too, similar things, but less like he was begging for Michael to tell him it was fine. It was more fault-accepting and calm. Rich had grown a lot since they’d killed the squip network.

Michael: Hey, rich. I get why you did it. That doesn’t make it okay. But right now I don’t know if I could trust you. I’m so sorry, I know you’re a good guy

Rich: I understand, and you’re right. It was fucked up to do to you. I’m really sorry, Michael. I hope you forgive me someday, but take your time.

Michael left it there, as it probably should have been, and beat his own high score two times in four hours in Galaga before passing out. Christine had eased some of the sourness in his stomach that usually sat there when he was trying to fall asleep, and without it impeding him, he actually dreamt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can breathe now.
> 
> Update 1/13: Sorry guys, no chapter today or by Tuesday, either. Things have been so crazy between planning my wedding, moving, writing my Actual Book and a screenplay, an audition/getting the part and having rehearsals, and this wild ice storm that dropped out of the sky. Unless I came write a chapter and a half tonight and tomorrow (not unheard of tbh), no chapter this week :c


	11. Weights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The weights get shifted from hand to hand to person to person. They're heavy; no one can bear it all at once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's song is "Alone" by Nathan Ball. (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rcVvaQ04HwA)

Christine awoke with a start and the realization that the first day of Senior year was very, very, very near. It loomed over like some sort of weird, classical depiction of Death (the guy, not like actual, literal death). Maybe with more hand-holding. She stretched and rolled over and nearly knocked her phone off the side table trying to reach for it, but she made a pretty decent save and caught it before it decided to divebomb onto the hardwood.

Christine: Good morning, Michael! Today, don’t forget that your strong mind can help you achieve any goal you set, and that I believe in you!

She smiled and hit send.

At that moment, Michael was jolting awake with the realization that Senior year was encroaching upon the students of Middleborough like a big cat waiting to take them all down for the kill.

“Fuck,” he sighed and stretched out his sore shoulder. He must have slept on it weird, or pulled it doing something stupid he didn’t remember. Christine’s message made him smile, though. It set something small at ease, and that’s all he needed at the time. Just something small.

They went through their morning routines almost simultaneously, each with the sluggishness of teenagers facing the reality that their days of sleeping in were almost through, as though somehow dragging through _this_ morning would make the rest last much longer.

Jeremy slept for a few more hours, and when he did wake up, he rolled out of bed and barely brushed his teeth. He didn’t get dressed, he just turned on his video game and started banging at the buttons on the controller. So, he was practically caught up to the other two, sitting in front of their TVs in their houses, managing to make oatmeal, or eggs, or whatever the craving was today (Michael just ate a grilled cheese and came back for more food a few times, while Christine tried some sort of egg-inside-an-avocado recipe she saw on Food.com with fruit and a bunch of stuff that took more effort than any teen should be willing to put in on a Friday morning). About three game-overs in, something sparked in Jeremy’s brain, and he hated himself for it.

He paused his game and called Christine.

“Fuck, I’m an idiot,” he said to himself while the phone rang. He pulled it away from his ear to hang up, but then he heard her voice on the other end of the line.

“Jeremy? ...Hello?” She made a noise into the phone. “Did you buttdial me?”

“Oh, uh, no, no I, hey, Christine.”

“What’s wrong? Something’s wrong, I can tell.”

“No, no way, I just-”

“ _Jeremy_ ,” she warned. “Don’t you lie to me.” Jeremy practically held his breath. “Jer?”

“Okay, that- uh, that’s the thing.”

“What?”

“I mean, that’s kind of the whole… the whole point.” His ears were hot.

Fuck, was he really going to do this? To tell her? Was Michael okay with it? Fuck what Michael was okay with; the guy hadn’t even _called_ since their little spat or whatever it was.

“So now you want to talk about serious stuff?”

Christine was… understandably upset. She’d tried to rectify things between Jeremy and Michael on Jeremy’s end, but every time she even mentioned him, Jeremy had shut her down or otherwise made it apparent he wasn’t going to talk about it. They were where they were, and that’s where they’d stay until Michael told him he was sorry for being an ass that night, drunk or not.

“Yeah, I do. Because this has nothing to do with _Michael_ , okay? Well- uh. I mean-”

“I think you need to deal with one problem at a time, Jer. I appreciate that you’re trying to tell me something clearly important, but… Michael’s been your friend longer than you’ve even known me. Don’t you think you should try and solve that issue first? You haven’t even let me tell you about-”

“Christine, just… please. I don’t wanna talk about what happened.”

“And I’m assuming that his parents haven’t even called you, or your dad?” Jeremy paused.

“Parents? What?”

“Maybe that’s what I should have mentioned before. Okay,” she sighed. She was more than exasperated after trying for _ages_ to try and get the news through his thick skull. She might have been more exasperated to know that Jeremy was acting as though he hadn’t already sent Michael a billion hollow, self-redemption-seeking apology texts. “Okay, I don’t… really know how to say this to you, but- are you listening?”

“Yeah,” Jeremy shuddered. He was listening. If parents had to be involved then how bad could it have actually gotten? Probably pretty bad. He felt his hands vibrating. The line was silent while Christine collected her thoughts.

“Michael was- he was in the hospital.” His stomach sank.

“What happened?” Jeremy tried to keep his voice from shaking, but no dice. He was instantly regretting… a lot. What, exactly? He couldn’t pinpoint it, but maybe it was just the frantic feeling of probably having your life flash before your eyes when you narrowly avoid a car crash -- been there and done it -- and you’re swerving, and at the same time realizing how you never told your cat you loved him enough or wishing you’d eaten, like, thirty more scoops of ice cream in your entire life, or that you really had jumped off a bridge with all your friends to go skinny dipping in the deep, lazy river nearby, or that you hadn’t told your best friend you loved him more often, or that you didn’t tell your girlfriend that you loved your best friend.

“He, um. He attempted, Jer. I’ve been trying to tell you for a while.”

“Oh my god.” His hands went numb. His brain went blank. “Oh my god.” It was all he feared and then some. Like, _attempted_ -attempted? God. Jesus Christ. Fuck.

“Yeah…” Christine seemed a little at a loss for words. She hadn’t really planned out what to say after that, anymore, because she had stopped expecting to get to that point. The silence was weighty and just shy of awkward, and thick with things Jeremy wanted to say and things Christine didn’t know.

“He’s… he’s okay though?”

“Okay is relative, Jeremy,” she said tensely.

“He’s like, not dead.”

“Well, yeah… I think the two of you need to work things out. I don’t know what happened between you two, but-”

“It’s not that easy, Christine, okay?”

“I get that it’s going to be difficult but if you just _listen_ to each other, and-”

“ _Christine_...” Jeremy felt like pulling his hair out.

“Forget it,” she sighed. “Jeremy… you’re an ass, sometimes, Jeremy. Can you just… care about someone else first for a second?”

Jeremy opened his mouth, and a strange sound came out, nothing like a word. It didn’t matter anyway, since Christine hung up. She had a point, and he knew it, resigned to it more than a little reluctantly. But maybe she’d understand better if he’d just told her.

Michael. He had to call Michael.

The phone rang and rang, and he thought he wasn’t going to pick up, but then Michael’s sleepy voice answered the phone.

“Uh, hello?”

“Michael…” Jeremy noticed something like reverence in his own voice. Hearing Michael answer the phone, despite the assurance he was fine, was still such a relief after receiving the news. “I just… I wanted to check on you.” He wasn’t sure if Michael was still sensitive about the matter, so it was probably best not to mention that Christine was the one to say anything.

“Jeremy?” Michael kicked his covers off. This wasn’t the best way to be woken up from a nap.

“Yeaaah. Sorry for not calling sooner, I, uh-”

“You don’t have to lie, Jeremy,” Michael sighed. “It’s fine.” He sat up and looked at his ruffled, greasy hair in his mirror and frowned. He figured he should take a shower. He didn’t want to.

“It’s not, I know, I just… I didn’t know.”

“Know _what_ , Jeremy?” Michael injected venom through the phone lines. “There’s nothing to know.” Jeremy sighed in lieu of a response.

“I just… I heard about what happened. And I feel bad for not knowing.”

“Like I said, you don’t have to lie or come up with excuses. I get it; we’re… like, done, or whatever.”

“Ngh, no, Michael! Jesus Christ, I’m coming over.”

“No you are not -- god damn it, Christine’s calling. No you’re not, you’re staying wherever the hell you are. Bye, Jer.”

Jeremy sighed and rolled his eyes. He most certainly was _not_ staying wherever the hell he was, and, in fact, headed up to his room to stuff a backpack full of leaving-the-house essentials. He informed his dad he was going to Michael’s, turned down the ride he was offered, and set down the street at a brisk pace.

Their houses weren’t exactly a far walk from each other -- most definitely faster by car -- but still a reasonable time by old-fashioned leg power. Especially when one set out with Jeremy’s current level of fire and determination. Alright, less fire and determination, and more blind compulsion, but with equal amounts of passion behind them. It just wasn’t a conversation that could be had over the phone or through text.

Christine was already there when he strolled through the Mells’ lawn. Shit.

Inside, Michael and Christine were settling down on the couch, with the kettle on in the kitchen; Michael’s mom had turned him into a fan. Christine had already explained that yes, Jeremy was telling the truth when he said he didn’t know, but also yes, it was his own fault that he was ignorant.

“Michael, it’s… he just wouldn’t listen. He’s still just really hurt about whatever happened between you guys, and so… I mean, obviously, that doesn’t make this any better, but.”

“I just… He’s so wrapped up in whatever’s going on in his own head, you know?” Michael sighed. “I’m trying to be patient with him, I really… I am.”

“I know, Michael.”

“But shit, does he have to be so…” He paused. He deflated a little. “He just has a lot of growing to do. I know.”

There was knocking at the door, and Michael cursed under his breath. Christine just looked confused, but Michael knew exactly who it was. When he answered the door, he made sure no friendly face greeted Jeremy.

“ _Hey_ , Michael.”

“Jeremy.”

“Can I-?”

“I told you to stay at home.”

“I just needed to talk to you. And Christine.” Michael’s eyebrows raised at that.

“Now?” Jeremy nodded. “…Fine. Come on.” He moved aside and let Jeremy in. Jeremy whispered a small “thanks” with a tight voice and slid through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, now breathe again.
> 
> I'm in a show of sorts! So hopefully my schedule doesn't get further f#%$'d by rehearsals/practice, but if I have to miss any posts in the future they'll be posted here! Thank you guys so much for bearing with me <3
> 
> Update: Okie doke, I AM WORKING on the 13th chapter, the 12th is written and done, but this just means the upload will be delayed a few days to a week; whenever I finish ch13. I'm moving next month and shooting two different advertisements this week, so things are getting more and more crazy :( Thanks guys! Feel free to leave comments/questions/speculations, anything you like!


	12. Dischorse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The truth hurts everybody. It's good to remember to offer it liberally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's song is by Bootstraps. You'll know it. (https://youtu.be/L4Ed2_bfnFo) A special thanks to my friend Caleb for their contributions to the past chapter, this chapter, and the next, as well as suggestions they've given that will show up in some future pieces and chapters.

They sat awkwardly for several minutes, the three of them. Christine and Michael stared down Jeremy, who picked at the cuticles of his thumbs and ring fingers nervously. He’d convinced himself he was Super Ready to spill his guts about  _ everything _ once he’d walked in, but there was some sort of magic ward on the threshold of the doorway that had nerfed any and all of his confidence upgrades. He’d attempted a few times to start a sentence, but it got pinched off halfway up his throat and died.

“Michael, I’m really sorry.” He cleared his throat, and silence won out for another few long seconds. “Sorry, I need a minute.”

“Take your time,” Michael sighed. As Jeremy rushed out of the room, Michael stared down at his shoelaces, wondering how this was really going to go, despite his stubborn several embers of optimism.

“Do you have any idea what he’s trying to say?” Christine had stayed turned the direction that Jeremy had slunk off, looking like she hoped to psychically divine his thoughts through the walls.

“Yeah.”

“Really?” Her tone was softer; she probably hadn’t expected a real answer.

“Yeah,” Michael sighed. His knee was bouncing now, his fingertips running over the backs of his hands and the edges of his jacket sleeves. They’d started to pill and fray in the past weeks, having become more of an item of comfort than it previously had been. “Before he says anything, though, I just want you to know I really appreciate everything you’ve been doing for me. You’re a good person, and you’re lucky Jeremy loves you.” That took her aback.

“What?” Her eyebrows mashed together on her forehead, trying to work through the puzzle Michael just put in front of her. A look of understanding slowly relaxed over her features. “Wait… Michael, why didn’t you-” She sighed and took his hand tightly. “Does he know?”

“Know… what?” Unexpectedly, she had flipped the script on him. He could see her suppressing a little smile, or trying to. That was…  _ not _ the expected reaction. As she collected her thoughts into words, Jeremy reappeared in the doorway and slunk to the far side of the couch. Michael and Christine had stopped and watched him, likely unaware of how creepy and pressuring they looked.

It was like they suddenly knew everything, they were just waiting for him to say it out loud. Maybe they did, Jeremy figured. He knew he was easily readable. Michael had to know. Christine and Michael were holding? hands… joining? hands? They were doing something involving Christine’s hands holding onto one of Michaels. Had he told her already? Shit, it didn’t matter.

“Christine, you know that… I care about you so much. And that I love you,” Jeremy started shakily. Christine let go of Michael’s hands and narrowed her eyes at Jeremy. It didn’t seem really that she meant to; it was just a byproduct of her mind working to fill in the blanks of what Jeremy was trying to paint out for them.

“Yeah, of course I do. I love you, too, Jer,” she replied. Michael could feel his hands going cold and getting clammy.

“And you’re right. I’m an ass. I need to think of someone else for once.” He did his best not to let his vision flicker up from his hands to either Christine or Michael. “I did a bad job of that today, kind of. But it was for a good reason? So…”

“What is it, Jeremy?”

“You’re gonna be mad. And you’re gonna have a right to be, okay, but… please just be mad at me. I… fucked up.”

“Jeremy…” Christine paled visibly and tucked her hair behind her ear. She was the definition of tense. Michael didn’t even feel part of the scene. He was a spectator existing beyond the fourth wall, totally free of any resulting firestorm. He was not there. He did not exist there, and therefore, he didn’t react.

“Okay, Jesus, um. So, there’s someone…  _ else _ that I’ve liked… for kind of a long time.”

“Uh huh.”

“And I told them.”

“And.”

“And… we…”

“What did you do?”

Jeremy was biting at his knuckles, like his whole body was physically trying to keep him from talking anymore. As if to say, “shut up, dumbass! You’re fucking it up!” The breath he took around them was shaky. Country-backroad-shaky. Old-transmission-shaky. Braking-on-ice-shaky. The-shower’s-too-cold-shaky. Bad-shaky.

“Not… a lot. But too much. That’s not- it’s not like, a really good way of saying… I mean we didn’t, uh. We didn’t have sex or anything, not that we- fuck. Uh…” Jeremy refused to look up, especially when he heard Christine sniffle.

“Seriously?” She touched her nose with the back of her hand, just to check. It wasn’t running, thankfully, but it felt like it was. A few tears lined her cheeks. “I’m not getting like, punk’d?” Jeremy shook his head silently.

“But I broke things off because… I felt guilty. And… I felt like you should know. Because I’m sorry. I really am. It doesn’t fix anything, but-”

“No, it literally fixes nothing, Jeremy. What in the hell were you thinking?” There was no bite in her voice, just solid disappointment. It stung Michael, too.

“I- a lot.”

“Not enough, I guess. Who was it?”

“I don’t wanna say. You’ll blame them.”

“I have a few guesses, either way.”

Jeremy suddenly got up to pace anxiously around the living room, though it was more that he would pace to a spot, pause, pace to another spot, and pause again. It made Michael even more anxious; he could feel his heart practically beating out of his chest.

“Christine, seriously, I… It’s not their fault.”

“It was me,” Michael piped up. “It was me, okay?” His hands were shaking harder than Jeremy’s by this point. God, such a small thing. Some words. All came down to this messy, ungraceful moment of weird confessions. He never felt so childish in his life. He figured there’d be more elegant drama involved in this moment, or maybe some miraculous tale of forgiveness. Instead, it was just the two of them being idiotic and throwing confessions left and right and trying to sound like adults.

Jeremy stopped pacing. Christine stood up.

“It was me,” Michael repeated. “I… I told Jeremy I was a little jealous of you. He told me he had feelings for me. I shouldn’t have said anything else.” He sighed. Honestly, it felt almost as good to get it off his chest as horrible as it felt to bring it out into the light. “But I kept talking, and we kissed a few times, and I mean. We almost did other shit, but… we didn’t really get there.”

“Why didn’t you ever tell me? Either of you?”

“Because!” Jeremy started. “It was shitty, all around. It was shitty to say,  _ ever _ , that maybe I had feelings for someone other than my girlfriend, and-” Michael chimed in.

“And what was I supposed to say? ‘Hey, I’m your boyfriend’s best friend, mind if I just borrow him for a second’? Right.”

Christine threw her hands in the air and clenched her fists as they came back to her.

“You’re both… So infuriating!” Cue the giant question marks over both of their heads.

“I’m sorry… what?” Michael asked, pushing his hoodie sleeves up.

“You’re both  _ awful _ at communicating. I wish that at least one of you had  _ said _ something before it got to this point.”

“Wait, I- wh, uh. What?” Jeremy mirrored Michael almost perfectly. The both of them looked up at Christine with the same confused face.

“Jeremy, I would have been fine with this if you’d just… said something.” Her glance to him was a little more hurt and cutting than she’d allowed it to be up to that point. “Y’know, if you’d just asked or something; polyamory is a thing.”

“Poly-what?” Was she seriously talking about geometry right now?

“Wait, Christine… You?” Michael asked, covering his face with his hands.

“Yeah, but. That’s not the issue here. Jeremy, I still… I’m going to admit, I’m really hurt. God do I love you, but… I just need to take some time, okay? And Michael…” She sighed and bit at the corner of her upper lip. “Yeah. I guess, same goes to you.” Shit. That smarted. “So… I’d suggest looking into therapists, and before you say anything,” she defended as she saw the faces of impending protest, “I happen to go to therapy regularly, and it helps. A lot. Especially with stuff like this. I’ll give your parents the number. Won’t say why, just… that it’d help. Promise.” There was a profoundly empty and unfillable pause that followed. They all thought about saying something, but nothing would have been really that helpful. So Christine just turned to leave.

“I love you, Christine.” She stopped, turned, smiled at him, and then went to the door. The second the door closed, Jeremy seemed to finish breaking down. Sobless tears rolled down his face, like passive drops of rain had decided to suddenly form. “I’m a fucking idiot.”

“Yeah… Well. We’re idiots together.”

“I thought you were mad at me.”

“I’m certainly not happy with you.”

Jeremy stayed over at his place that night. Likely against best judgment, but at the very least, they slept in separate rooms for the first time since they were in elementary school. It was a strange feeling for the both of them, knowing the other was there and not being able to just roll over and ask, “Hey, do you think aliens have pets?” at 2:00 AM.

Neither of them slept particularly well; Michael woke up three times out of stress dreams, all of them involving Christine. And Jeremy couldn’t even masturbate himself to sleep, as ridiculously hard as he tried. He just lay there, heart pounding and staring up at the ceiling and hating himself for - well, everything. For reacting like this. For being at Michael’s house. For not going into his room and waking him up to hold him. For wanting to do that. For not calling Christine. For not talking to Christine. For thinking about any of this post-big-O. He screwed his face up. Maybe not call it that anymore. He regretted masturbating, honestly. It wasn’t what he should have been doing. He should have been peacefully, quietly, and sanitarily insomnia-ing alone at the wall or out the window or something. He sat up and thought about going to wash away his weird, insomniac sins. He was too lazy. He did it anyway. He went into the guest bathroom and turned on the warm tap in the sink, found a washcloth lost and forgotten in the bathroom closet and took the lamest sink bath in the history of creation. Strangely enough, he fell asleep right away after that.

Michael, meanwhile, was playing back all the times he could have and should have just spilled the beans to Christine. The one person who had really helped him, and he couldn’t do so much as “hey, I almost fucked your boyfriend”. No, wait. Maybe, “hey, I sucked your boyfriend’s face”. Yeah, maybe.

When morning came, Michael’s phone buzzed. Groggily, out of habit, he rolled over to read the message. He hadn’t expected one of Christine’s positive affirmations today, but there it was, like clockwork:

Christine: Morning, Michael. I just wanted you to know, you try as hard as anyone I’ve ever known to be the most genuine person you can be, and I really commend your efforts. I still look up to you. <3

Well.

That was a way to start the morning with some sweet, pure, unintended guilt. He wished he hadn’t opened the text, but was equally glad he did. It was at least good to know Christine was still his friend, which… was extremely generous of her. He couldn’t say the same of himself if the situation had seen him in Christine’s place. Time to start the day, he guessed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit I am SO sorry about being gone for so long. One audition became TWO, which then became a print shoot, a video shoot, and now rehearsals for my show. Between all that, I'm moving houses and offices and things have just been SUPER crazy lately, but definitely fun. I hope you enjoy this chapter, and I hope to see y'all next week! <3 Chapter 14 is in the works!


	13. Communiqué

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's amazing what can be accomplished with a few hours of gaming and some half-decent grass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's your song: "Boy" by Instupendo (https://youtu.be/fEf-moUFxkQ)
> 
> Thank you guys so much for reading and supporting so far! Sorry I had to take that little unexpected hiatus, but hopefully these two updates make up for it?

Christine did as she said she would the next couple days, through no small amount of tears. She tried justifying everything in her head, but damned teenage hormones said she couldn’t rationalize it. Part of her thought that maybe she didn’t want to rationalize it, or that maybe there wasn’t anything _to_ rationalize. This whole thing was just one big, frustrating… piece of crap. That’s what it was. Her entire stomach clenched up at random points of the day, because… because of a lot of reasons.

She wondered if it was that she’d become hard to talk to, or that Jeremy had lost interest. Logically, she figured that wasn’t the case. He’d been afraid enough of losing her to even hide it at all. But hell, if he’d just _talked_ to her. Of course, that was never Jeremy’s strong point; that’s why he ever bought a Squip.

For fuck’s sake, who spends six hundred… seven? Five? Who spends that much money on a computer that does that? Even Christine herself wasn’t totally convinced until she’d been forcefully Squipped -- for free!

Jeremy was just. So stupid. So stupid. Boys were stupid.

Michael’s mom had been home that morning, and she insisted Jeremy stay for dinner later that night, despite Michael trying to rush him out on the low. He thought of all the ways he could get her to kick him out, but that was kind of the downside to having a lifelong childhood friend. He’d stayed over when Michael had _strep_ , so it’s not like he could feign ill to get out of it. Hell, even “we’re having a fight, mom” wouldn’t save him at this point. She’d sit them down and make them talk it out, and that’d just be awkward for everyone involved. Out of the question. Moms were so stupid. (No, they weren’t, it was just a stupid situation, he corrected himself.)

Maybe they could make the best out of a crappy situation. Maybe not the best. Maybe, like, the okayest.

He knocked on the guest room door softly. Jeremy cracked the door, almost immediately. He must have been doing that thing where he stands by a door and questions whether or not to leave the room and all the while tries to pep-talk himself. Michael wasn’t that scary.

“Hey, Jer.”

“Hey, Michael.”

“Mom’s going over to her friend’s house for like, a spa day, or something.”

“Oh. I’ll just… I’ll go. I’ll come back before she-” Michael shook his head.

“It’s fine.”

“Oh, uh. What?”

“Let’s play NES.”

For a while, it was almost like nothing happened, ever. Nothing outside of the TV screen had ever existed, as they navigated landscapes and levels that had practically raised them. The spirit of competition still lived on strong in them, and it fueled the strange forgetting-bonding. All over again, they were Just Jeremy And Michael, as they had always been. Never Jeremy&Michael, not Jeremy! …Michael…, nor Jeremichael. They were just in Michael’s basement, three roaches in the ashtray already, making it through the afternoon.

Michael hadn’t even hoped for anything this good. He had expected a halfhearted shrug and agreement, or an insistence to go home and return, or _some_ kind of brush-off. He had expected Jeremy to let him win every match, just because his heart wasn’t in the game anymore. He had expected Jeremy to roll his eyes and shut the door, groaning “Lemme know when your mom’s back”. And he did none of those things.

What did he say?

“Oh! Yeah, okay.” Like it was the most natural, exciting, and obvious thing to do or say. Like it wasn’t a thinly veiled way of saying “please forgive me” or “are we still friends?” Like it wasn’t the most obvious way to beg for absolution from whoever would give it first. Yeah, okay.

They switched games almost as many times as they switched consoles, and stuck almost entirely to classics. For at least an hour, it had been some mindless Xbox FPS until one of them got up to take a piss and the other switched out the games, like a race to see which could be done faster.

There was one window in the basement, and it sat up high and almost never cast sun on the TV. In the early afternoon rays, thin smoke and thick dust drifted and danced around, disturbed into miniature galactic tornadoes by the involved jerks, pulls, and tense breaths of the two locked into space battles, speedcar races, shootouts, and princess-rescuing. The dust never settled around them, for once.

Jeremy’s phone rang just as the sun was settling into position to shine right in their eyes.

“Pause…” He looked down at the screen. “Ugh… Hello?”

Michael could hear that it was Mr. Heere on the other end of the line, but couldn’t make out what he was saying.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m just. I’m at Michael’s… Yeah. We were… Don’t worry about it. It’s… it’s not a big- dad, no. Dad… Don’t listen to her, it was just a little-... Yeah… Yeah. Okay… Fine, but just once… Love you too. Bye.” Michael raised his eyebrow. “My dad. Worried ‘cause I didn’t come home.”

“Oh, shit. I totally forgot we didn’t tell him you were staying…”

“It’s okay, he’s been all over me lately, anyway.” This was the most organic conversation they’d had since they’d tried to be together. Maybe that was a red flag in and of itself, anyway, that they felt like their other conversations had been constructed, concrete. Not breathing.

Inside, they were both kind of tired of feeling like they were holding their breath when they talked to each other. As tumultuous as the week had been, they at least felt like they were breathing.

“And, I guess, Christine called him,” Jeremy sighed.

“Well. I mean…” Michael shrugged and thought of his mom. “It’s probably a good thing. She said she goes, right?”

“Right…”

“And therapists aren’t supposed to judge you.”

“They do sometimes. They’re people.”

“Okay, yes. But,” Michael sighed and looked sullenly into the ashtray, “I was thinking we should still try it. Christine’s _usually_ right.” Jeremy smiled at that.

“That’s because she’s the smart one.”

“And we’re idiots.”

“But we’re idiots together,” Jeremy offered.

“Unfortunately. Guess we’re just stuck with us, huh?”

“So, you don’t totally and completely hate me yet?” Michael took a deep, soft breath and let it out even softer. “You do. It’s-”

“No, Jeremy, I really don’t. I never do. It’s just hard to be… okay. Okay with everything. I don’t know.”

“I get it.”

“Maybe you do, maybe you really don’t.”

Jeremy leaned back on the bean bag chair. He slid out a little bit and ended up mostly on the floor instead.

“I think I’m not sober enough for this conversation. So maybe I don’t.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, I’m just. I’m thinking about other things. My mind is… I can’t focus, and I really don’t want to. I just want this all to fuck off for a few days.”

“Yeah, me too. I just wanna fuck off for a few days.”

“You can’t. You already did, and I almost didn’t have a best friend anymore. Should I have not said that?”

Michael sighed and crushed one of the butts in the tray with his fingers. He wanted to light another joint, not have this conversation, pretend it was funny, something other than talk about how he felt. He swallowed hard, working around his drying mouth and throat, and trying to pretend his skin wasn’t crawling with discomfort at the question.

“I wish you hadn’t, but I don’t think it was wrong of you.”

“Are we still best friends? Or are we just like, normal friends. Friends who are gonna lose contact one day, and I’ll see you at some reunion or I’ll grow up and live in Metuchen forever and see you in the grocery store one day, and be like ‘ _hey, that guy I knew for like forever, and then we had some shitty falling-out, how’s it going? How’s the family? Remember when I was suuuper in love with you and then we grew out of it?’_ Is it gonna be like that? Or are we still… Are we fucked up now? I guess, is what I’m really asking.”

Michael didn’t know the answer. Jeremy’s supposition had substance behind it. A reason for the accusation, and that’s exactly what it felt like. He didn’t _want_ that, but he feared it could happen. Would probably happen.

“I don’t want us to be fucked up.”

“Me, either.”

“I don’t wanna be some guy that you used to be friends with.” Michael stared straight ahead. The mental picture of it replayed itself in his head over and over, and it terrified him to death. Sure, Michael had a casual friend or two outside of Jeremy, but Jeremy was pretty much his only Real Friend. As for Jeremy, he still had some of the ex-Squippees to lean on, even though they’d gone back to their fairly bitchy selves. Most of them were softer now, more open and understanding and sympathetic, but only to Jeremy. That weird, techno-psychic connection had stuck somehow, so they really couldn’t _not_ care. Michael didn’t have that. Michael lacked people who understood a lot of things about him. Not even Jeremy got everything about him, even when he accepted it.

“I want you to be a lot more than that. I always do.”

“Stop it. You can’t say that shit anymore.”

“Why?”

“ _Because_ , Jeremy. Because that’s the shit that got us in this mess to begin with. It’s you saying shit like that without thinking first that hurt Christine.”

Jeremy didn’t say anything. His chin dug into his collarbones because of the strange angle at which his neck bent. Michael couldn’t fathom how he was comfortable slouched into the bean bag and against the floor that way. He looked broken.

“You know, Jer. I used to hate Christine. Not a lot, but like, a little.”

“Was it ‘cause you were jealous?”

“A little.”

“Was it ‘cause she was smart?”

“Nah. I think it was just because you liked _her_ kind of smart. I was a little jealous, yeah. Like, not of her, but of the way you acted about her. You were crazy about her. You went crazy _for_ her, man. I wanted someone to go crazy for me, like some… some stupid movie.”

“Are you high?”

“I think.”

“Yeah.” Jeremy tried to sit up against the bean bag, but ended up sliding into the exact same position. He seemed more resigned than comfortable. “I _am_ crazy about you, Michael. Just in a different way, I guess. You make me feel like… I don’t know. Shiny, but inside. Like when, uh. I don’t know. But it’s a good feeling. You know, like when you look at those Viniq bottles?”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, it’s like that kinda feeling. But way more. Do you think Christine’s gonna hate me for that forever?”

“Christine doesn’t hate you, that’s the problem.”

“Good. ‘Cause I’m shiny about her too.”

“Jer?”

“Michael.”

“You’re a fucking idiot,” Michael laughed. “You should go to the therapist. I decided I’m gonna. Now we’re all doing it and you have to, too. It’s like ecstasy.”

“Peer pressure and shit.”

“Yeah, just like that.”

“Alright. Fine, I’ll pop the therapy Molly.” Jeremy even laughed as he said it. That was a good sign, thought Michael. A really good sign. He smiled back and unpaused the game without warning. The competition was back on, and Jeremy jumped back into motion, ready to whip Michael’s 10-3 score back into control.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be quite short, but worry not! I'm working tirelessly on all of my projects, this one included, now that I'm finally settled (...kind of settled). Thanks again for the support, everyone! 20-something subscriptions isn't a whole lot, but it's an honor! And yes, Christine should be making much more of a comeback soonish!
> 
> Fun fact, guys, this fic has surpassed my Actual Novel in wordcount. The Actual Novel that I've been developing for years. Am I slightly bitter at myself? Yes. Am I also thrilled? Yes.


	14. Peers & Pressure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's amazing what you can accomplish if you stand up for who you believe in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey your song this week has nothing to do with the actual story matter but yo I saw this girl live and she's amazing. Besides, the song kind of pertains to the beginning of the fic?
> 
> "Main Girl" by Charlotte Cardin (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8Xef2NPzGp0)

Therapy didn’t suck that much, Jeremy guessed.

The guy asked questions, Jeremy answered them as best as he could. The first session was boring. The second session was boring. The third was boring. He didn’t feel like he was making any “progress”, and the first day of school was that week. Maybe he wasn’t help-able, or doing it right.

The therapist always asked him how was doing, and the answer was always fine. He was always fine, never really exceptional, never really awful. He was more self-assured than he was before the Squip, anyway, and he always viewed that as an improvement. He wasn’t as down on himself anymore. It seemed the doctor was pretty lost on what to ask him about, too. He felt a little bad he was making his dad pay for this and nothing was really happening.

The first week of school passed without incident. Only one teacher gave first-day homework, which was fine; at least he knew which one was the real hardass. He and Michael were on better terms emotionally since their chat, but they were hanging out way less than before. Jeremy figured it was because they both had wordlessly decided it was a little disrespectful -- maybe _way_ disrespectful -- to Christine until they all figured out how to talk to each other.

Everyone the second week wanted to know what the hell was going on between them all. Michael just avoided everybody thanks to his people skills (turns out they could help you get _away_ from people, which hadn’t occurred to Jeremy and his subpar socialization abilities), while Jeremy had no escape (because of aforementioned subpar abilities).

“Is everything okay?” Brooke’s nasally voice needled from behind him at lunch on the 3rd day of school. Despite the social pariah it would undoubtedly make out of her for the next couple days, she sat her lunch down next to Jeremy and plopped down.

“Wh- uh. Oh, hey, Brooke… Not to be rude, but, I thought we weren’t friends anymore.”

“Oh, I mean. We weren’t _not_ friends?”

“You haven’t talked to me since like, last school year. Way last school year.” She scrunched her mouth to the side and looked down.

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah. Me too, I guess.” Why was _he_ sorry? He stuffed the thought under a bite of rectangular pizza, way too greasy to be actually good for anybody.

“Remember when I was like, ‘I just feel so connected to you guys after we all did X at the play’?”

“Yeah, and then we told you about the Squips?”

“Uh-huh. Well, I mean, it’s not like that ever stopped or wore off, you know? So… I guess it’s just weird to think of myself as your friend, even though we don’t have the same friends or anything.”

“Thanks.”

“I didn’t mean it like that, Jeremy. I meant that I still can tell when something’s up. And I care.”

“Sure.”

“You don’t have to be a dick about it,” she said, but there was no heat in her words. Where she could have been defensive, she instead resigned. “If you don’t wanna talk about it, just say so.” She started to gather up her lunch.

“I’m sorry, it’s just-” He remembered what Christine said. Communication. “I’ve been going through a lot lately, and sometimes I feel like nobody actually cares. It’s- it’s not like I need them to, I just. It’d be nice.”

“Well, I’m trying to, Jer, but-”

“I know, I know. I’m… I’m working on it. You still wanna sit with me?” Brooke smiled and nodded.

“Yeah.”

“Thanks.” Jeremy smiled back and picked at his green beans. “I don’t really feel like talking about what’s going on, but. It’s good to see you.”

“You too, Jeremy. Gingersnap?”

Jeremy made a mental note to bring up in therapy that he’d Used His Words and Talked to Someone. That’d make the therapist happy, probably.

He didn’t see Michael at lunch all week.

He wanted desperately to believe that Michael was just avoiding the lunchroom and the cesspool of festering teenage questions, but he thought back to Bryan and the party and seeing Michael in his room with his face full of bruises. The idea of it made his hands clammy.

When he saw Rich in the hallway again, he grabbed him by the shirt collar and dragged him into the bathroom.

“Where’s Michael?”

“What the fuck- I don’t know, man!” Rich seemed bewildered that Jeremy was the one doing the demanding, for once.

“How do you just not know? Look, everyone knows you’re obsessed with him.”

“I’m not obsessed with him.”

“Right, no, you totally left him to the wolves this summer. Of course you’re not. Where’s Bryan?”

“What?”

“Where’s Bryan.”

“I don’t know?”

“Where _might_ he be?” Jeremy felt… powerful? Maybe? Maybe this is just what it felt like to put effort in. Maybe this is just what it felt like to be assertive, for once, of his own volition. “I swear, Rich, I’ll skip a class. I haven’t seen Michael all week except in passing periods and the like, one class we have together. He won’t talk to me much anymore, and you’re the only person who might have a clue if that Bryan guy is being a creep.”

“Oh, you… You know about that?” Rich almost seemed relieved.

“About what, _exactly_?” Jeremy realized he’d been encroaching on Rich the whole conversation and was now looming over him like a very skinny, very angry, kind of muscular cloud. “Rich.”

“Back off, man! Listen, all I know is that Bryan is a bad guy.” He started rambling. “He’s literally a piece of shit. Real jarhead type, and he gets satisfaction out of messing with anyone he labels a doormat. Which… I mean, if you stop down hard enough, anything can be, right? Michael’s nice. He’s really, really nice. Bryan likes to take advantage of that. Like at the party. You can’t fight him, Jeremy, he’s practically made of Ritalin and steroids. You just have to go along with whatever he says.”

“Yeah, that I knew. And you don’t know where he is. Not even if it’s for Michael?”

“Tell Michael I’m _sorry_ , okay? I just- I can’t help you. But,” Rich sighed. “If I were you, I’d _avoid_ the band hall altogether.” Jeremy squinted and took a step back. What the fuck? “Sorry, Jeremy, gotta get to class.” He hiked his backpack back up his shoulders and left the bathroom watching the ground intently.

Band hallway. Great. Jeremy was going to get in a fight on the first day of school.

Correction: Jeremy was going to get his ass handed to him on the first day of school.

Double correction: Jeremy might go to the hospital on the first day of school.

He sighed and splashed some water on his face. This wasn’t real. But it was, it totally was, and he had to do it because Michael was his best friend. Michael had been his friend for a _long. time._ Because Michael let Jeremy treat him like an unused spell slot. Because Michael was his _best_ friend _ever_. Michael needed him; he had to find him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are about to really, really hate me if you don't already... How many of you noticed my little change to the stats? Also, I apologize for the shortness of the chapter, but 15 really, really makes up for it. Would I let you down?


	15. (Un)Yielding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What is being (un)yielding? It's being firm, but malleable. It's being tough and soft. It's being hardheaded and weak-kneed. It is... it just is. Unyielding. Yielding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! Thank you so, so much for coming on this journey with me. Your last(?) song here is "Maybes" by Giraffage, the RAC Remix; find it here: (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bL6Kfilm8Vo). Its dreamy sound is just perfect for this ending. Go ahead and peep the bottom notes at the end when you're done <3

“Holy  _ shit _ Jeremy, what happened?!” Jeremy had texted Christine asking her to meet him and Michael behind the school. Jeremy had taken off his t-shirt and balled it up against his face to keep it from bleeding too much. Thankfully, it was a black tee that he didn’t care much about. Michael hadn’t even tried to clean himself up; he was just staring off into the distance at some tree, trying to wrap his mind around the scene that had just happened.

Jeremy  _ actually  _ punched Bryan. In the face. The face. He just… knocked on the door, Bryan opened it, and Jeremy just decked him.

“Michael, Christ, are you alright?” Christine knelt down and turned his face this way and that, hoping that she could help somehow. “What happened to you guys?”

“That douchebag kid who was being a douchebag at Rich’s party.” Jeremy wished he’d had something better to say, but really all he wanted was an ice pack. He couldn’t have cared less about his verbiage.

“He came after you, too, Jeremy?”

“No,” Michael and Jeremy responded in tandem. Michael seemed more out of it than Jeremy; all he could think about was how Bryan was going to regain consciousness at any second and come hunt them down. Then again, that last hit had sent him into a low-hanging pole. He hit the ground pretty hard, too. Fuck. Was he dead? Jeremy was going to get charged with involuntary manslaughter.

Manslaughter! That shit was steep.

“Holy fuck…” was all that left his mouth.

“Guys… you can’t just sit here. We have to go to the office and explain what happened.”

“They know,” Jeremy sighed. “They already called my dad and Michael’s mom. They’re on the way. My dad texted me to tell me he’s not mad, but I’m grounded as hell.”

“Sounds mad to me,” Michael mumbled. “Why else would you be grounded?”

“Because not every problem can be solved by fighting it. Those were his words. Which is weird, because I’ve been in like virtually no fights ever.”

“He’s still figuring out the whole dad-ing alone thing,” Christine said. “Give him a break and go with it. Besides, it’s the first couple weeks of school; were you really planning on much else?”

“I guess you’re right, but… I wanted to see you. I don’t know. That’s dumb.” Christine smiled a little.

“It’s not dumb, Jeremy. That’s sweet.”

“You think? Aren’t you still mad at me?”

“I mean, I’m hurt, yeah. But like your dad, I’m not mad. That was just kind of a shitty thing to do. Kind of a really shitty thing to do. You could have talked to me.”

“We’re doing this now?” Jeremy had seemed to pick up from Brooke the idea of a thought with no ire behind it. It wasn’t  _ we’re doing this NOW?  _ It was  _ I acknowledge we’re going to talk about this. Okay. _ “Sorry, I didn’t mean- I just… yeah. You’re right. And I should’ve.” Maybe therapy was helping.

“You too, Michael.”

“Me too. Yeah, I know. Are you okay?”

“I’m okay,” she nodded. “Are you?” He nodded back.

“Are we all good? Or, I mean, will we be?” Jeremy looked to Christine as he asked. He more wanted to look to Michael, because he knew already Christine was a forgiver, but at this point he’d learned not to take Christine’s kind nature for granted. As always, he was torn.

He felt a little guilty that even now, he was torn between them. He felt even guiltier for wanting to ask Christine if that “poly” thing would still work, or  _ how _ it worked, or-

“Yes, Jeremy. Duh,” Christine smiled up at him from where she had knelt to look at his and Michael’s battle wounds. “You guys are my best friends. And I still love the heck out of you. Just because I get mad about something doesn’t necessarily mean I’m automatically going to want to break up with you. It’s… it’s really hard figuring this stuff out. I mean, we’re in high school. You’re stupid sometimes, but I still like you.”

“Really stupid,” Michael supplied.

“Really stupid,” Jeremy agreed. “I’m sorry. I really am.”

“I’m just glad you guys actually took my advice. I know you didn’t want to, but you’re at least trying it. That means the world to me. It means more than you know.”

“Well…” Michael sighed. “If you don’t make an effort to change, are you really sorry?” Christine almost teared up. Neither of the boys knew what might have been going through her mind at the moment, but between her and herself, the sincerity itself touched her most.

“You guys!” She sat up and hugged them both together. “Thank you!” She leaned back and looked at them seriously. “This doesn’t fix everything, okay? It’s not, like, magically fixed. Things don’t work that way.” Jeremy and Michael nodded. “But I’m really proud of both of you. And happy for you. And we’re gonna be alright.”

“Jeremiah Heere what were you  _ thinking _ ?!” His father chided him pretty much the entire short drive home. And then some.  _ I’m not mad, my ass _ , thought Jeremy. “You could have gotten seriously hurt! I saw the size of that boy, he could have broken  _ me _ over his knee! What were you thinking getting into a fight with him?” Jeremy was tallying the times Mr. Heere asked him what he was thinking. He was currently averaging out at about two times a minute.

“I was thinking I was tired of Michael getting beat up, Dad,” Jeremy offered tiredly. 

“Don’t you talk back to me!” Mr. Heere crossed his arms. “What’s going on with you? You’re not yourself. You’re not into another one of these phases, are you, like last year?”

“I told you, Dad, that wasn’t some phase. It was a supercomputer that- forget it. I know you know. Anyway, no. It’s not drugs, or gangs, or anything like that. The guy was just… I just wanted to stand up for him, okay?”

“I mean more than that. You’re withdrawn. You haven’t been like this since before you made all your new friends.”

“They’re… they’re not really my friends anymore. Most of them are assholes again.”

“Language, Jeremy.”

“What? They  _ are _ .” Jeremy hefted his backpack back up his shoulder and shrugged. “And I’m tired, and I think I need a hot bath or something. Am I free to go?” Mr. Heere sighed and his shoulders fell. He nodded his chin at the stairs, a silent invitation to leave. 

“And Jeremy?” Mr. Heere stopped him halfway up the stairs. “You know, don’t… don’t worry about being grounded. That was pretty brave, what you did, if that’s how it happened. But don’t think I’m not calling Michael’s parents.”

“I know, Dad. I wouldn’t expect anything less from you. Being all… dadly. You know, sometimes it sucks.”

“That’s how I know I’m doin’ my job, kiddo.”

Of course, Michael’s parents were upset to hear the news. There was no shortage of Mrs. Mell cupping her boy’s face and looking at him teary-eyed. She wondered why he hadn’t told her, or said something to someone at all, or this or that. Michael did his best to shrug her off in the nicest way he could, because he appreciated the concern, but it just wasn’t what he wanted or needed just then. He tried to get out of the house more after that. He couldn’t stand the way she kind of pitied him every time he walked by.

“Hey, Christine,” Michael finally had the courage to approach her at school. “How are you?” She looked startled.

“Oh, uh. Not bad, I guess? How- how are you?”

“I’m… alright. Your texts help a lot. Thanks.” He tried to smile, but it came off more as a wince through his anxiety over the whole encounter. Christine’s return smile was soft and genuine.

“I’m glad. Are your classes all okay so far?”

“Yeah, you know, they’re pretty average. I’m taking your advice and asking my math class to get switched out for a more advanced one. This one’s just… boring.”

“Good, good. I’m sure you’ll do well.”

“Thanks.” There was a pause that felt thick as syrup. Michael swallowed it, and was sure he could physically feel it scraping down his throat like the first sip of soda. “Hey, uh, listen. I was talking to Jeremy-”

“Yeah?”

“-and we agreed that,  _ if you want _ , we should… we should all sit and talk about this properly. Like we should’ve in the first place.” Christine raised her eyebrow.

“And he couldn’t have come to me because…?”

“He’s not as good at talking and he was afraid he’d say something fucked up. I figured, if he’s gonna put his foot in his own mouth, he should at least wait til I was there. Plus, he’s spending lunch with his Geography teacher to finish a project due tomorrow.”

“Oh, fair. I’ve got that teacher too, and I finished mine last week. Of course Jeremy would wait til the literal last second,” she laughed. “So… when did you guys want to talk?”

“Are you free after school Friday?”

“Let me guess, projects?”

“Three of them, actually.”

“Michael,” Christine chided lightheartedly. “Let me help.”

A few days later, at the end of the day, the three convened behind the school, by the gigantic air conditioning units. Jeremy hopped up onto one and sat there with no regard for the pollen and dust collected on top of the metal, just waiting.

Christine and Michael exited a door on the other side of the little courtyard. They were side-by-side and laughing, telling stories about the day and joking with each other. Jeremy smiled watching them interact; the myriad anxious voices in his head told him that he’d ruined their friendship. His heels hit the thin metal of the unit, making deep metallic noises in a disjointed rhythm. This got Christine’s attention. Her head snapped up and he almost couldn’t take the way she looked at him: gentle, and hurt, but a little understanding, maybe? He couldn’t work it out, but he was sure it was mostly just disappointment. It was gone in a flash as she remembered herself.

“Hey, Jeremy…” Her tone felt the same way it feels to walk on eggshells around someone. 

“Hey, Christine.” His felt like the precipice of tears. It was tense for a few beats between them.

“Right…” Michael interjected. He sat on the metal box next to Jeremy. “Where the hell do we even start?” They all looked around between each other, kind of lost. Even Christine was at a loss.

“Can I start by apologizing again?” Jeremy stammered out. He wasn’t brave enough to get it out in one smooth go the first time, but he got it eventually. His ears were hot. “But like, for real, this time.”

Christine nodded. Jeremy nodded back.

“I’m sorry.” When he said it, his mouth felt heavy with the meaning. “I never meant-” No. “I made you feel like I didn’t trust you. I didn’t talk to you. I should have, and I didn’t.” Yes. Christine’s metaphorical ears perked. “I don’t tell you enough how much I love you. And I’m scared to, I guess, which… I worked out with the doctor. We talked about that. Every time I tell you, I feel like it’s going to magically bring Murphy’s Law down on the whole thing…”

“Self-fulfilling prophecy,” she jokingly mumbled. But she was right.

“Yeah… Yeah. Well, anyway. I love you. And stuff. And no matter what happens, I’ve learned a lot from my behavior. I want to use it to be a better person, and it’s gonna take some work.”

Jeremy took a deep breath, waited for a lecture, or for her to blow up, or  _ something _ . He should have known better, known Christine better, and he felt bad at the little bit of hurt that welled in her eyes when he jumped at her hand on his.

“I forgive you, Jeremy. And I hope we trust each other soon.” They hadn’t been able to apply an instant panacea to the gash in their relationship, but there were at least some shitty, untrained sutures that might help it heal up. She squeezed his hand before letting go. His eyes were flooding up.

“Thanks… And Michael? I’m… really sorry. Like, really sorry, for treating you the way I did. I should have told you how I felt a long time ago, but I think maybe I didn’t totally know? But I shouldn’t have taken advantage of you like that. You’re my best friend, and you’re the nicest person I know, and… It was just fucked up. I’m lucky to have someone like you in my life, and even luckier that you  _ ever _ thought I was worthy of your love.” His voice was cracking as his throat constricted. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. “Thanks for being my friend, even after all I put you through.”

“Hey,” Michael put an arm around him, gently. “I’ll always forgive you, Jer. Not to say I wasn’t totally pissed, but don’t worry; one day I’ll do something fucked up and need to beg for  _ your _ forgiveness. So consider us already even.” Jeremy couldn’t help a weak laugh escaping him and leaned into Michael.

“Okay, yeah. That’s all I’ve got,” he said, still chuckling a little. Even Christine was smiling. It must have been good enough for her.

They sat for a long time after that, talking about themselves and each other, their feelings and their hopes.

“Jeremy, please don’t take the impression I  _ don’t _ want the two of you to be together.” She said this with a few tears coming down her face, a remainder from ten minutes ago when they’d delved into some particularly difficult terrain. “I really do. I think you’re wonderful together.”

“So, you don’t want you and me to-”

“No, no, that’s not it, either. Listen to me, Jeremy, again: polyamory. It’s when someone can have more than one partner. I’m not sure if that’s the right thing for you, ‘cause I’m not you, but I think it’s worth a shot, and I think Michael agrees when I say that neither of us will be hurt if you, in your growing as a human being, figure out that it’s not right for you.” Michael nodded next to him.

“Yeah. I mean, a little heartbroken, maybe, but ultimately, we all want for each other what’s best, you know?” Jeremy grinned at Michael’s words despite himself. When was the last time he’d felt so  _ cared for _ ? At the question, his mind flashed back to every little care and gentle touch he’d received from Michael and Christine. His smile faltered as he realized he didn’t appreciate them enough.

“So, what, we’re… a Thing now?”

“Ehh,” Christine scrunched her nose. She and Michael exchanged a look. “Maybe not  _ us _ , exactly. But we’re both interested in being a Thing with you, Jeremy. Right?”

“Right,” Michael agreed. “But, just to be clear. This is going to take a lot of work, and a lot of healing, and maybe like… couple’s- triple’s- uh… relationship therapy. But,” he shrugged. “I wouldn’t do it for just anyone. I’m pretty invested at this point.”

Jeremy looked down and noticed that they’d both taken his hands at some point. He figured he’d be just fine if they were occupied by Michael and Christine. His hands didn’t feel half as full as his heart did. 

_ Shit, that was cheesy. Don’t say that out loud, _ he thought. Then again, fuck it. Except he didn’t say that. What he said was,

“I love you. I love you both so freaking much.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe it's done! I admit, I thought it would end way sooner, but I'm so glad it didn't; I think this was just the ending the story needed. Thank you all so much for reading it and for commenting and leaving kudos, it really, really, kept me going!
> 
> And surprise: keep an eye out for some ~*extras*~, because of course no great love story ever ends. ;)


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